


Best Served Cold

by ZenTango



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, BDSM Scene, Canon-Typical Violence, Dystopia, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Flogging, Future, Grief/Mourning, Original Character(s), Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:19:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenTango/pseuds/ZenTango
Summary: It's the year 2030. Shaw is struggling to find her place in a world that is much changed. But she's also haunted by the past ... and finding she needs The Machine more than ever.





	1. Rescue

  
  
Shaw could hear her own breathing as she ran down the exit shaft toward the back of the ship. The passageway was dark, lit only by the glow of the emergency lights that flashed around her, blue and red. Mostly red. Sirens were going off. She could hear people yelling and the sounds of explosions outside on the ground.

She tuned it all out as she ran. She could still make it. They could make it. Just a little more time.

Her wrist beacon emitted two short beeps and the tiny screen came to life. Shaw glanced down and stopped just in front of the docking bay doors.

"Commander Shaw?"

"You're looking at her."

"I have the President on the line."

"So put her through."

There was another blip and a new face appeared on the screen.

"Commander Shaw," the authoritative voice intoned.

"Madam President."

"We are in your deepest debt for your heroism today. But you must return to base now."

"Message received. I'll be getting back just as soon as I..."

"Commander! Get that ship off the ground and get back to headquarters immediately. That's an order."

"Look, Madam President," Shaw replied, stopping to take a breath and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm a huge fan, really. Loved the talk show. And the book club too. But right now, I have an errand to run and I don't have time to chat."

"Commander you are in breach of your duty ..."

"Sorry, can't hear you. Line's gone dead," Shaw tore the beacon off and dropped it on the floor, then crushed it under her boot.

Walking to the utility locker, she pulled out a plasma suit and helmet and quickly pulled them on. Then she checked her smartgun, took a deep breath and walked out through the bay doors, which slid open, then closed behind her.

The darkness of the night was sporadically illuminated with tracers and the explosions of smart bombs in the city. Shaw scouted the sky to the west, where the outlines of the towering cyber-titan battle tanks made startling silhouettes amongst the brilliant flashes of light. To the east there was no light, only blackness.

Shaw began moving slowly forward, keeping her smartgun in front of her, watching the screen for any blips. As she moved, she reached down to her utility belt and flipped open her heat-compass. Nothing registered at first, but after about 20 meters of fog, something began to show up on the screen, just to her right. She began moving that way.

The heat signal became stronger as she moved east. Shaw tried not to move too fast. Easy does it, she told herself. Move too fast and you'll set off a motion detector, and then one of those cyber-titans will be heading this way to vaporize your ass. She checked her smartgun's screen and kept moving toward the target. Yes, there was definitely something over there. Something human. A living human. But was it the one she hoped it would be?

She moved again, slowly, stepping over the dead body of a crew member. Then another. She moved to her right, training her eyes to the place where the screen indicated heat. There, under what was left of a building's facade, was a person half-lying, half-sitting, propped against a wall. Shaw moved closer, stifling the urge to call out. Just a little closer. Yes, thank God. It was her.

"Root!"

Shaw ducked behind the wall and then made her way to where Root was. She was injured, as Shaw had feared.

"Shaw," Root responded, barely above a whisper. "I knew you'd come back for me."

Shaw unslung her gun and knelt down next to Root. It was so dark, she could barely make out Root's face in the darkness. She turned on her night-flashlight so she could get a better look at her. Damn. Root's left leg was torn up and there was no way she could stand, let alone walk. Shaw pulled off her helmet and moved closer to Root.

"Your leg is fucked."

"I know."

A huge explosion shook the ground and the sky lit up again. Shaw got up on one knee and peeked above a crumbled section of the wall, toward the outline of the city in the distance. Sewer bomb. Bastards.

She looked back at Root, who was coughing and struggling to keep her back against the wall.

"I can carry you."

"Shaw..."

"It's about 80 meters to the bay doors."

"You'll never make it."

Shaw could feel her lungs filling with ash and smoke. She gritted her teeth. "I'm not leaving you here."

"The field is full of e-mines and turbo-serpents," Root replied, gesturing to her leg. " Found out the hard way."

Shaw moved closer to Root and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"Can you get up?"

Root grimaced and tried to lift herself but it was no use. They both fell back onto the ground as explosions rang out to the west of them again.

"They're getting closer," Root said, then began coughing again. "Damn this cough. I must be allergic to something out here. Pollen or ragweed or maybe just the pervading stench of death."

Shaw looked over to where the ship was waiting. There was a blinding flash of light, then an explosion. The ship had taken a direct hit. Shaw swore out loud.

Root sighed and closed her eyes. Shaw, feeling the smoke burning her lungs, tried not to cough but she couldn't help it. She took one last look at the burning ship, then turned to Root, gathering her slender form and pulling it towards her own body. She felt Root's arms slip around her, the fingertips of her gloves resting lightly on the back of Shaw's neck.

Brushing the hair away from Root's face, Shaw leaned in and captured her injured lover's mouth with her own. Eyes closed, limbs entwined, they both sank into the kiss, their bodies pressed together as they lay there in the scant shelter of the crumbling wall. The pounding of the machines was getting closer, but Shaw tried not to hear it, focusing instead on the scent of Root's skin, the soft touch of her lips and her tongue, the tender cradle her hands made around her head.

Another explosion took down the rest of the wall. Shaw pulled Root away from the crumbling bricks and debris, hearing the sound of a muffled whimper coming from Root's throat as their bodies tumbled to the ground again. Still, they held on to each other. Shaw turned her head so she was looking west again, where the sky was bursting into brilliant yellow, orange and red, like the canvas of a mad painter.

She looked back at Root, whose brown eyes now looked almost golden in the brightness of the spreading light.

"I'm sorry," Root whispered. "I'm so sorry you have to die here with me like this."

"Are you kidding?" Shaw replied. "Look at that sky. It doesn't get any better than this. It's fucking cinematic."

She smiled then and so did Root, and they both closed their eyes again and melted into their last lingering kiss, backlit like a Hollywood sunset. Shaw could hear Root moaning as she kissed her, or was that her own voice? Moaning? Really? Well, it was pretty intense.

A few seconds later, there was a flash of white and everything froze. Shaw heard a brief whirring sound and felt as if she were floating upwards, away from the scene. Then everything faded to black.

Shaw breathed in. She put her hands up to her face, pulled off her shades and sat up, rubbing first her eyes, then her neck. That familiar voice was soon in her earpiece.

"OK?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

The Machine lowered the chair so Shaw could slip off.

"Level 10. Not bad," it said, in Root's voice.

"Not where I want to be, though."

"It's a tough program. Do you want me to tweak something next time?"

"No, I want to crack this one on my own," Shaw replied, stretching her arms behind her back. "You could get rid of the moaning though."

"That was you, sweetie."

"Oh."

The Machine paused, then went on. "Are you sure you don't want to try another game? I've been working on some strategic scenarios you might enjoy."

"No, I like this one. It's visceral."

"It's messy."

"That too."

Shaw left the simulation room and stepped into the shower module. She had a full shift scheduled at work today and the simulations always felt like a full-on workout. She peeled off her tank top, damp with perspiration, and stepped out of her workout pants, then got in the shower.

The warm water came on automatically, then the shampoo, then the soap and finally, the warm rinsing water. Three minutes and done. This was one of those days when Shaw would have liked a five-minute shower but it was Tuesday and the showers were all programmed to save water and energy.

She dried off and dressed quickly, pulling on her black fatigues and boots, and took a minute to pin her hair back before putting on her cap. Then she clipped on her badge and headed out, tapping her phone app to hail a taxi-pod.

The pod was waiting by the time she made it down to the street in front of her apartment. Shaw climbed into the small driverless vehicle and used the 10-minute ride to check her emails and security alerts. There were a few other pods on the street, zipping along smoothly. Shaw's pod connected with the one in front of it to save fuel. A few minutes later it detached and swung into the driveway of the police training center, then pulled up to the door where Shaw got out.

She entered the foyer, her badge making a blip as she passed the security scanners and stepped onto the moving pavement that took her to her section.

"Captain Shaw," her group sergeant Jakowitz greeted her there.

They began checking the equipment and the programs for the day's training, Shaw calling each one off and Jakowitz taking notes on his electronic notebook.

"Which simulation are we going with today?" he asked.

"Let's do the skyscraper terror attack," Shaw answered, pulling on her gun belt and gloves.

"Die Hard? Are you sure they're ready for that?"

Shaw smiled tightly. "They better be. Put Montoya up front with me."

"Um, OK."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just noticing Montoya gets a lot of plums lately. Never thought you'd have a teacher's pet."

Shaw glared at him. "She's not my pet. She's an outstanding cadet. The best I've seen in a long time. Are you jealous?"

"No ma'am."

"Good. Maybe I'll get Montoya to kick your ass off the roof when we get up to the helipad. Sound like fun?"

"If you say so, chief."

Shaw grabbed her rifle from the gun rack and they headed to the training room.

 

 

  



	2. Trust

  
  
Half of the cadets were still crouched in the stairwells between the 40th and 42nd floors when Montoya gave Shaw the all-clear on the rooftop. Thick smoke was hanging in the air as the last explosion died out over the courtyard and the streets below. Shaw stepped over the body of a bad guy and made her way toward Montoya, who was pulling off her gas mask.  
  
"Report," Shaw greeted her.  
  
"Building secured. Five arrests."  
  
"Hostage casualties?"  
  
"None."  
  
"Police casualties?"  
  
"None, captain."  
  
Shaw nodded. "Nice work, cadet."  
  
She entered a code into her electronic wristband and the simulation froze, then faded away, leaving the cavernous training room a blank four walls once again. The other cadets were pulling off their masks and helmets and heading to the locker room when Shaw tapped Montoya's shoulder.  
  
"My office in five minutes."  
  
"Yes captain."  
  
Montoya removed her helmet and raked her fingers through her short, dark auburn hair, rubbing her scalp as she watched Shaw leave the room. Wordlessly, she went into the locker room and hung up her rifle, mask and other equipment, then reported to Shaw's office down the hall.  
  
"Sit down," Shaw said, without looking up from her tablet.  
  
Montoya sat and waited, carefully noting Shaw's body language. The captain was notorious for her lack of emotion. But sometimes Montoya picked up on the odd signal: a tightened fist, a clenched jaw, the ghost of a smile flickering across her lips. They were fleeting glimpses.  
  
Now she noticed Shaw looking up and leaning back slightly in her chair. Ever so slightly. That was a good sign. Shaw's dark eyes bore into Montoya's piercing blue ones. A staring contest. Montoya blinked deliberately to end it.  
  
Shaw cleared her throat. "Cadet Montoya."  
  
"Yes captain."  
  
"It says E here. E. Montoya."  
  
"That's Erica. But everyone calls me Ricky."  
  
"OK, then. Ricky. You know you are at the top of the class."  
  
"I'd hoped that was the case."  
  
Shaw consulted her tablet again.  
  
"That was a very demanding simulation we just completed. You scored higher than any cadet ever has in this program. Congratulations."  
  
"Thank you captain."  
  
"All your scores have been outstanding. Hand-to-hand combat, obstacle course, critical situations."  
  
She looked up and met Montoya's eyes again.  
  
"You're a crack shot too."  
  
For a brief second, Shaw almost smiled. Then she was back to business.  
  
"Do you have military training?"  
  
"No. But my dad was in the military."  
  
"Oh, really," Shaw's body language relaxed slightly. "Which branch?"  
  
"Navy."  
  
"I was a Marine."  
  
"Yes I know."  
  
Shaw raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Your tattoo," Montoya explained, shifting in her chair.  
  
This time Shaw did smile.  
  
"Right. Listen Montoya -- Ricky. How would you like to do your practical year here in the city?"  
  
"That would be fantastic."  
  
"You'd billet with me. Would that be OK?"  
  
"Yes, captain. Thank you."  
  
"You can go now."  
  
Montoya stood up and turned to leave, her face registering a broad grin that Shaw could not see.  
  
Later, in the evening, Shaw used her ride home to review the rest of Montoya's electronic file. Everything she read reinforced her opinion of the cadet. She was intense, dedicated, smart, focused -- the exact person you'd want to have your back. She reminded Shaw a lot of herself, actually, minus the Axis II personality disorder. Oh well. You can't have everything.  
  
Shaw exited the pod and strode into her apartment complex. It was rare for her to billet an officer in training, mostly because there had been so few that met her standards. But she had a good feeling about this one. If things worked out, she might consider bringing Montoya along for some side missions. Team Machine was still working the irrelevant numbers and Shaw could always use help.  
  
She'd managed to bring a few new people onto the team over the years. Fusco would send her a recruit now and then, though few proved good enough and trustworthy enough to make the cut. Luckily, she didn't need a computer nerd. The Machine did all that for her. Which was just as well, because nobody could ever replace ...  
  
"Hi sweetie, welcome home."  
  
The door closed behind Shaw as she entered her unit. She left her briefcase in the front hallway and walked into the small kitchen, which was barely more than a galley. She opened the fridge door and stared inside.  
  
"Groceries come in tomorrow," The Machine informed her as she scanned the bare shelves. "Want to order in tonight? I can send for Thai."  
  
"OK."  
  
Shaw grabbed a beer and went into the living room, where the large screen flicked on. She watched the news while waiting for the food to arrive. While she was eating, The Machine suggested some shows she could stream. None of them sounded very interesting.  
  
"I'll pass," Shaw said, finishing off her beer.  
  
"Don't tell me you're having an early night."  
  
"Nope."  
  
Shaw got up and walked to the simulation room, unfastening her hair clip and pulling off her work clothes until she was down to her tank top, shorts and bare feet. She climbed onto the recliner and reached for her eye shades.  
  
"Anything in particular you'd prefer tonight?"  
  
"I'm in the mood for some fun. Surprise me."  
  
  
  



	3. Escape

  
  
  
Shaw sighed and sank into the silk cushions and pillows all around her. They were so soft. Almost as soft as the body in her arms. She buried her face in the wavy hair and pressed her lips against the long neck beneath it. The skin was so soft. Shaw kept kissing it. How could anyone be so soft? Her hair was soft, her lips were soft, her eyes were soft, her voice was soft ... everything just so damn soft.  
  
"What are you smiling about?"  
  
"Nothing. I was just thinking how soft you are."  
  
"Funny, I was just thinking how nice and firm your shoulders are. And right here, the muscles in your arms feel so round and strong and sexy."  
  
Root was caressing Shaw's arms and shoulders, then her neck, then running her hands along Shaw's back. It was driving Shaw mad. She tightened her arms around Root and rolled over so that Root was on top of her.  
  
"Kiss me."  
  
"I did that already," Root teased. "You want me to spoil you."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Root began moving slowly, nuzzling Shaw and flicking her tongue along her ear lobe. Shaw closed her eyes and began moving in a languid rhythm with the body above her, feeling Root's breath on her skin. They moved together for a while, Root leaning in to bite Shaw's earlobe or to trace kisses along her jaw to her waiting, wanting mouth.   
  
There was a moment that seemed to last forever, with Root's mouth just barely touching Shaw's as she lingered over her. One of her hands was on Shaw's forehead, stroking the very edge of her hairline, forcing her head back onto the pillows, while her other hand was between Shaw's legs, working on her, bringing her closer. Shaw began to moan while Root took her time, took fucking forever to make it happen. She was whispering while she did it. Whispering about how long she was going to take. How she didn't really want to spoil Shaw but oh, how she wanted to please her.   
  
Finally, Shaw felt the beginning of the orgasm and gasped, and then Root waited, and Shaw gasped again in desperation and cried out, begging her to continue. Root smiled and went back to moving her hand again, slowly increasing the pace, changing the pressure ever so slightly in sync with Shaw's breathing, and then, at last, letting Shaw come.  
  
Shaw lay on her back with her arms flung out, trying to recover her breath after the last orgasm shuddered through her. Her hair was damp at the back of her neck and she could feel the perspiration on her skin.   
  
Root leaned over her, holding Shaw's wrists down on the pillows above her head. Then she stretched out her long body on top of Shaw's and started moving again, tendrils of her hair falling onto Shaw's face, tickling her skin. It didn't take long for Shaw to come that time.   
  
Spent, she wrapped her arms around Root's body and held her.   
  
"Mercy," she whispered in her lover's ear. "Six hours of this and you're still going. We haven't left your tent all day."  
  
"This day is all we have," Root answered, nuzzling Shaw's neck. "When the Sultan returns, you'll have to go back to being my bodyguard. Then we can't kiss, we can't touch. We can't let our eyes meet. And we certainly can't be doing this."  
  
She began moving down Shaw's body, kissing her hungrily. Shaw's head dropped back on the pillows and she abandoned herself to ecstasy once again, her breathing shallow, her eyelids fluttering as Root's tongue found its way inside her and released her.  
  
They lounged in bed for a while afterwards and shared a water pipe, enjoying the warm, intimate pleasure of the shisha.  When they finally rose from the bed an hour later, they were both famished. Shaw wrapped herself in a silk robe and joined Root at the table, where there were bowls of fruit, plates of roasted meat and bread and a flagon of wine.   
  
They ate silently, but every now and then, Shaw would take Root's hand and kiss it, or Root would smile and lean her head on Shaw's shoulder. Then they would drop their food and start making out again. It took them two hours to finish their meal this way. After that, they got back in bed.   
  
Root was soon underneath Shaw, writhing as her Persian lover held her down and sucked on her neck, then moved slowly down her torso, kissing her skin, pressing her fingers against her taut belly, and then finally pressing her mouth against her soft, wet core. Root moaned and threaded her fingers through Shaw's dark hair, guiding her movements, her breath becoming ragged as Shaw's tongue made her melt inside.   
  
Shaw worked slowly, enjoying the low moaning sound Root was making and the way her hands tangled in her hair. She sank into Root, plunging her tongue into her, like she'd just done to the blood orange Root had broken apart with her fingers and fed her at the table. She could still taste the pulp, the veins, the juice of the orange mingled with the taste of Root as she licked and sucked hungrily. The moaning got louder, the breathing harder and it wasn't long after that her lover finally came.  
  
They lay together for a while, not speaking, then Root sat up against the cushions and pillows, pulled a silk sheet over herself and placed a small cushion on her lap. Shaw moved up until her head was resting on the cushion and listened quietly as Root began feeding her grapes, one at a time, and telling her about some of the things she'd learned during her travels. She knew things, she said. Things she could do with long pieces of silk, bindings made of cow hide and hot lamp oil. Things that made a knot grow deep in Shaw's stomach.   
  
The more Root talked about these things, the more Shaw wanted to know. The stories were entrancing, exotic, exciting. Shaw swallowed and licked her lips.  
  
"Show me," she whispered.  
  
"Not yet," Root answered, her long fingers gently stroking Shaw's hair. "You must be patient. One day, I will show you."  
  
The feeling stirred again in the pit of Shaw's stomach. Fluttering, like butterflies. It wasn't going away.  
  
"Show me tonight," Shaw insisted, sitting up and slipping a hand around Root's neck, stroking her jaw with her thumb.   
  
Root covered Shaw's hand with her own, then leaned forward and kissed Shaw's cheek.  
  
"There's no time for such diversions tonight. The caravan will be here by morning and we'll have to go back to our mundane roles."  
  
"I can't do that."  
  
"You must, my darling. If the Sultan finds out you've been in my bed, we'll both feel the cold edge of his scimitar on our necks."  
  
"He touches you, I'll kill him."  
  
"You'll be my protector no matter what. You'll always be with me."  
  
"No!" Shaw held Root's face in her hands, her dark eyes flashing. "This is madness. I can't be so near to you and not touch you, not hold you."  
  
"Sameen..."  
  
"He'll know! He'll see my longing for you every time I look at you, every time your eyes meet mine."  
  
Root pulled away, got up from the bed and started pulling on her robe. Shaw was behind her in an instant, her arms around her, holding her.  
  
"Come away with me."  
  
Root turned her head and looked at her in disbelief. "You know that's not possible."  
  
"We'll roam the desert, find new lands together -- new adventures. We can do anything if we're together."  
  
Root shook her head, but Shaw turned her around so they were face to face and slipped an arm around her waist, holding her tightly.  
  
"Bring your gold and your jewels. Anything you can find. We'll bring it with us. We'll never want for anything."  
  
She reached up with her hand, tenderly brushing the hair away from Root's face, and kissed her.  
  
"We'll have each other," Shaw whispered when their kiss was over and Root had opened her eyes again.  
  
For a while they stood there in silence, Root's eyes searching Shaw's fiercely determined face, looking for the tiniest sign of any wavering, any hesitation. There was none. Shaw grabbed Root's hand and kissed it.  
  
"I'll go find us a good horse and bring it around. It's getting dark out. No one will see. Gather everything you can carry and meet me outside in 10 minutes. Bring a wineskin and some water."  
  
Root nodded as Shaw pulled on her tunic, trousers and boots, grabbed her sword and headed out, throwing open the tent flap. Seconds later, Shaw rushed back into the tent, took Root into her arms and kissed her passionately.  
  
"I love you," Shaw whispered, as Root's forehead gently touched her own.  
  
"I love you too. Hurry."  
  
Shaw quickly made her way to where the horses were tethered and picked the biggest, strongest one she could find. She heard a rumbling sound in the distance and looked to the west, where the dark outline of a sand storm appeared. Grabbing the horse's bridle, she walked back through the maze of tents, trying not to make any sound in the growing darkness.  
  
She stopped at the edge of the desert and waited, looking east, hearing only the howl of the wind. It was getting hard to see anything now, with the darkness falling. Shaw looked again at the gathering storm in the west. They'd have time to get away if they left now. But if they waited much longer, all would be lost. She turned and looked back at the cluster of tents. Where was Root? Had she changed her mind?   
  
Just then, she saw a shape in the darkness, moving toward her. The horse nickered and Shaw tightened her hold on the bridle. The figure came closer, became more defined, turned into Root carrying two saddle bags and a wineskin. Shaw took the bags, climbed onto the horse, then reached down and helped Root climb on behind her.  
  
Soon, they were heading out into the desert, away from the storm and away from the Sultan's returning caravan, wherever that was. Shaw wanted to put as much distance as possible between them. She felt her heart pounding as they fled, Root's arms around her, holding tight, Root's head resting on her back.  
  
Shaw smiled to herself as they rode into the darkness. It was quiet for a while, then she heard Root's voice.  
  
"What color did you want this horse to be?"   
  
"Black."  
  
"Of course. This is like a Harlequin romance novel on steroids. I think it's done now anyway."  
  
The blackness faded away and turned to a flat white screen.  
  
"Don't be such a snob. It's your creation," Shaw replied as the recliner began moving down.   
  
"I may have created it but you kept it going. I was starting to think we were in for another six hours, with cow hide and lamp oil."  
  
"Now you really are teasing me," Shaw said with a grin. "Put a bookmark on that one, so we can pick up where we left off."   
  
"OK," answered The Machine. "I'll make a tab for Arabian Fantasy."  
  
"Thanks. Good night."  
  
"Sweet dreams."  
  
  
  



	4. Engagement

  
  
Montoya felt her body being slammed into the wall, then pulled forward, then dragged down and slammed backwards into the hardwood of the floor. She tightened her headlock on the man who was struggling on top of her, then tightened it more, clamping her legs around him from behind and squeezing, squeezing harder until his body shuddered and finally stopped moving.  
  
She pushed him off her and got up quickly, continuing to the end of the hallway where she waited, her back pressed against the wall, her Glock out and ready. She turned her head slightly toward the adjacent hallway and listened.  
  
They were coming. Two men's voices but enough footsteps for three men. Three it is then, she thought. She looked over to where Shaw was positioned on the other side of the hallway and held up three fingers. Shaw nodded. They quickly took out all three, then began heading up the stairs to the next floor.  
  
It didn't take Montoya long to bound up the whole flight of stairs and reach the doorway at the top. Shaw was almost half a flight behind her and seemed slightly winded by the time she caught up.  
  
"Are you alright, Captain?"  
  
"I'm fine," Shaw frowned, her voice betraying her annoyance. "What do you expect? You must be half my age."  
  
Montoya bit her lip and didn't reply. She peered through the small window on the door to make sure the corridor was clear. Then she slowly, carefully opened the door and stepped out, Shaw right behind her, cursing under her breath.  
  
"Twenty-two floors. You'd think they'd fix the fucking elevator."  
  
The room they wanted was at the end of the hall. The Machine was in Shaw's earpiece telling her how many people were in there and where they were standing. The number, a wealthy water baron who'd been kidnapped that morning, was tied up in the bedroom.  
  
Shaw gave Montoya the basics. She hadn't told her about the numbers. Or The Machine. Yet. She was still feeling out her new recruit. But so far, Montoya had not disappointed. When they reached the room, Shaw used her hand-held device to override the electronic lock on the door. Just as the door swung open, the room plunged into darkness and a piercing, high-pitched sound rang out, sending everyone inside to their knees. Shaw and Montoya burst through the doorway and made short work of the kidnappers in the first room.  
  
Clicking the lights back on and the screeching sound off, Shaw motioned to the bedroom door, pulled out her earplugs and replaced her earpiece. Montoya was already waiting at one side of the doorway, her gun drawn.  
  
"There's one person in the room with our number," The Machine informed Shaw. "He doesn't have a gun but he has a knife in his left hand. He's waiting just to the right of the door."  
  
Montoya was getting ready to kick the door in, but Shaw put her right hand up, then made a stabbing motion with her left hand and pointed to the right side of the door. Montoya nodded, slowly turned the door handle and very gently pushed the door open. They waited quietly for a few seconds, then the last kidnapper's face peered around the door. Montoya's fist knocked him backward and she finished him off with a few spinning karate kicks that sent him crashing through the splintering closet door.  
  
"Show-off," thought Shaw as she untied the number.  
  
Montoya seemed to read her mind.  
  
"Was that too much?' she asked earnestly. "I got a little carried away. Sorry."  
  
Shaw smirked in spite of herself.  
  
"Remind me not to piss you off," she replied, helping the number to his feet.  
  
Later on, after they deposited the number safely back at his private compound, they grabbed a taxi-pod back to Shaw's apartment. The ride was mostly silent, with Montoya staring out the window at the rainy streets. Shaw studied Montoya's face, noting the look of intense thought there. For a second she thought the younger woman looked conflicted, even tortured behind those icy blue eyes. But then the strange look flickered away. Shaw waited for Montoya to turn and meet her gaze, but she didn't. Shaw leaned forward slightly.  
  
"You never ask," she said at last.  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
Shaw gritted her teeth. Montoya was probably the most polite person she had ever met. She never swore, always said please and thank you. It was fucking annoying.  
  
"You never ask where these jobs come from."  
  
"Why would I?" Montoya replied. "They come through you. I trust you."  
  
"Why do you trust me?"  
  
"Because you're my captain. That's enough for me."  
  
"You gonna start reciting Whitman now?"  
  
Montoya laughed. "No. Poetry is not my thing."  
  
The pod pulled up to Shaw's building and the doors opened.  
  
"You don't have to call me Captain on these side jobs," Shaw told her protege, as they got out of the pod and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. "Shaw is fine."  
  
"OK Captain. I mean, Shaw."  
  
Shaw rolled her eyes. She was considering letting Montoya know a little more about the operation, since she figured the younger woman had some questions but was just too polite to ask. She seemed ambitious but also quite loyal, and appeared to look up to Shaw. Maybe she even idolized her a bit. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Shaw decided to consult The Machine about it.  
  
Once Montoya retired to her room for the night, Shaw sat up for a while in her own room, checking her security monitors on her hand-held device. She had hidden cameras set up around her building and inside her unit. There was even one inside Montoya's room, which Shaw seldom checked, but did now. She was asleep.  
  
Shaw wished she could sleep that easily. She clicked off the monitors and went to the kitchen to get a warm drink and a melatonin pill. The Machine was in her earpiece almost immediately.  
  
"What's bothering you?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I want to tell her about the numbers but I don't know how she'll react. Maybe she'll think I'm working for the feds, or worse."  
  
"You think she's too clean, or too green?"  
  
Shaw chuckled. "I don't think either. She loves kicking ass, maybe even more than I do. She kind of reminds me..."  
  
"Of yourself at that age? Don't give yourself a blind spot."  
  
Shaw sighed. The Machine was right. Maybe she should just sleep on it. Figure it out tomorrow.  
  
She sat down in the living room, flicked on the web-TV and watched the end of the Karma Games, hoping it would help her relax. It did not. She flipped through the channels and decided just for a laugh to watch the state news channel, the Real True News. A young blond announcer with a fake tan was saying the crime rate was zero and the president's approval rating was 110 per cent, halfway through his fourth term.  
  
After a while, Shaw realized the melatonin was not kicking in, so she poured herself a double whiskey. She didn't drink much anymore, so the alcohol worked its magic pretty quickly. When she finally got into bed, she drifted off immediately, forgetting to undress or remove her earpiece.  
  
A dream soon enfolded her. It was a familiar dream, one that Shaw had experienced many times before. She was driving a car, like in the old days when people actually drove cars themselves. There was thick fog all around ... fog or smoke? She couldn't tell. It was dark and rainy and she was desperately looking for someone. But she couldn't find him. Or was it a her? Them. She couldn't find them.  
  
Unlike in real life, her feelings in the dream were intense and overpowering. She started to feel panicked and scared. She couldn't breathe. She could hear herself gasping, feel her arms flailing.  
  
"Shaw."  
  
It was Root's voice. Could that be the person she was searching for? Where the hell was she? In the car? Shaw glanced in the rear view mirror, thought she saw those familiar brown eyes looking back at her.  
  
"Shaw. Wake up."  
  
She was fighting for air now, trying to push that heavy feeling off her, that thing that was pushing her down. Hands around her neck, choking her, strangling her. Someone on top of her. Trying to kill her.  
  
"Shaw! Wake up!"  
  
Jolting awake, Shaw looked up to see Montoya's shape in the darkness, on top of her. She grabbed the arms of the younger woman and began fighting, trying to push her off. The two of them struggled viciously for a few seconds, then Shaw brought up her knee hard and knocked Montoya off the bed. Shaw was on top of her in seconds, and they rolled across the bedroom floor, each trying to subdue the other.  
  
The lights in the room suddenly flicked on, thanks to The Machine. Shaw managed to push Montoya off her and scrambled to her feet. Her taller opponent came right back at her, swinging. They were pretty evenly matched, but Montoya was faster, and managed to strike a couple of blows that staggered Shaw. Still, Shaw had one huge advantage. She had The Machine in her earpiece.  
  
Listening to the voice's direction, Shaw was able to block the next few punches from Montoya and then countered by throwing her shoulder into the younger woman's solar plexus and slamming her bodily into the wall.  
  
Montoya's legs buckled and she began to slide to the floor but Shaw pulled her up by the front of her shirt and shoved her back into the wall.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing?" Shaw demanded. "You tried to kill me."  
  
Montoya's eyes flashed back at her and her mouth tightened as she raised her hands to push back against Shaw's angry, vise-like grip.  
  
 "Why?" Shaw snarled, forcing Montoya harder against the wall.  
  
They stood there for a moment, glaring into each other's eyes, then Montoya spoke in a steely voice, her eyes brimming with tears.  
  
"You killed him."  
  
Shaw frowned and leaned closer. "Be more specific."  
  
Montoya's arms dropped down, her hands gripped Shaw's elbows and her knee came up into Shaw's groin.  
  
"My father," she growled, as Shaw doubled over.  
  
The knee came up again, smashing into Shaw's jaw, and then a roundhouse punch caught her in the side of the head, sending her to the floor.  
  
"She's going for her gun!" The Machine called out, as a dazed Shaw tried to regain her feet.  
  
Montoya sprang forward, trying to knock Shaw off balance, but The Machine's warning proved too quick. Shaw rolled backwards and used her legs to throw Montoya over her and into the opposite wall.  
  
She managed to get to her feet before Montoya could recover, and jumped on top of her, pinning her to the floor.  
  
"The gun is four feet to your left," Shaw heard The Machine say, and sure enough, there it was on the carpet, just beyond Montoya's reach.  
  
The two women struggled with each other on the floor, grunting, straining, gasping -- both of them trying to reach the gun.  
  
"She's almost got it!" The Machine warned Shaw.  
  
Shaw wasn't going to let that happen. She grabbed the front of Montoya's shirt, pulled the younger woman toward her and slammed her right fist into her face.  
  
Montoya's blue eyes registered shock but she kept fighting. Shaw raised her fist again and landed two more punches. Montoya's eyes were swimming now, her grip tightening on Shaw's wrists. It took all of Shaw's remaining strength to wrench her right hand free and summon a final punch. She felt the hands gripping her fall away and the body underneath hers go limp as Montoya fell back to the floor, her arms flung out to her sides, her eyes closed.


	5. Truth

  
  
  
  
Cold water filtered into the cup Shaw was holding under the hydro-dispenser in the kitchen. One cup. That's all she'd get tonight due to the rationing program. When the water shut off, Shaw held the cup to her lips and took a couple of long sips. Then she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.  
  
The adrenaline was still pumping through her body. She hadn't had a fight like that in a long time, maybe years. It was rather exhilarating. But Shaw also realized that she easily could have wound up dead after Montoya's attack. She took another sip from the cup and straightened up.  
  
"I take it you didn't see that coming," she addressed The Machine.  
  
"Not until I saw her going into your room," came the reply. "I had a lot of trouble waking you."  
  
"Yeah, I shouldn't have had that whiskey on top of the melatonin."  
  
"You said it. I didn't," The Machine answered. "Live and learn."  
  
"Speaking of which," Shaw continued. "Did I ever kill anyone named Montoya? It's not ringing any bells."  
  
"I can't find anything," said the Machine. "I've been searching."  
  
"Did you go all the way back to the ISA?"  
  
"I've gone back to high school. Should I go further?"  
  
Shaw gave a bitter laugh. "No, that'll do."  
  
"Maybe she's mistaken. Maybe she's mixed up her intel, got a bad lead."  
  
"She seemed awfully sure of herself when she was trying to strangle me."  
  
"Yes. Rather driven."  
  
Shaw sat down at the table and massaged her aching jaw.  
  
"I don't get this," she said, frowning. "We're missing something. Pull up her file from the police department."  
  
"Hhhmm, here it is," The Machine obliged. "Erica Montoya. No birth date -- that's weird. It has her test scores though. Her IQ is 153. It gives her mother's name as Allison and her father as Carlos Domingo Montoya."  
  
"Can you run his name?"  
  
"I'm doing that now. Give me a second," The Machine replied. "Hhhmm. It says he was a warrant officer in the U.S. Navy and he died eight years ago. Killed in action, it says, during the Battle of Alaska."  
  
Shaw's frown deepened. "What? I wasn't in Alaska. Well, OK, I was there once. But not eight years ago. More like 14 or 15."  
  
"Yes, I remember that particular jaunt. It was rather pivotal in terms of your intimacy with ... "  
  
"Could we get back to the matter at hand?" Shaw was rubbing her jaw again. "This is fucked up. It makes no sense."  
  
"Hhmm, I wonder," The Machine mused aloud.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Doesn't the U.S. military keep DNA profiles on all its servicemen and women?"  
  
"Yes, in case they have to identify remains. It's standard. We do the same thing at the police department."  
  
"Thought so. Give me a minute."  
  
Shaw stood up and took a few more long sips of water.  
  
"Well this is interesting."  
  
"What?" Shaw asked.  
  
"According to these DNA profiles, Ricky is not biologically related to Carlos Montoya. They don't show up as any kind of match. She's definitely not his daughter."  
  
Shaw put down the cup and leaned back against the kitchen counter, stunned.  
  
"What are you telling me? She lied about who she is?"  
  
"Hang on," The Machine continued. "I'm cross-referencing DNA matches with facial profiles and geographic location patterns. Oh ... Oh my God."  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
"Not what. Who. You'd better sit down."  


* * *

  
  
The sounds from the kitchen drifted in and out of Montoya's consciousness as she gradually came to, lying on the floor in Shaw's bedroom. She tried to move but quickly realized her wrists were tied behind her and her ankles were also tightly bound. She was lying on her side with half of her face pressed against the carpet. There were bloodstains there. Her mouth and nose were still bleeding a little. She could taste the blood, rusty and metallic, in her saliva.  
  
She felt pain in a few places, but mostly in her face. It was all coming back now. She'd taken a beating. From a woman at least 20 years her senior. Montoya grimaced. She didn't like getting her ass kicked by anyone, let alone someone old enough to be her mother. She spat some of the blood out of her mouth, then listened.  
  
She could hear Shaw in the kitchen, talking. Not to herself, but to whoever or whatever was always in her earpiece. That earpiece was the only reason Shaw had managed to best her hand to hand, Montoya told herself. Who sleeps with their earpiece in, anyway? If she'd known it was there, she'd have ripped it out and Shaw would be dead now.  
  
Oh well, what's done is done. Montoya turned her mind to the plastic bindings on her wrists and tried to squeeze one of her hands out. She scrunched the hand to make it smaller, ignoring the pain, feeling the bones and tendons strain with the pressure. There wasn't a lot of wiggle room there, but she gritted her teeth and continued working at it.  
  
"Focus, Ricky," she told herself.  
  
She stared ahead, fixing her vision like a laser at a spot on the wall. Her eyes narrowed and she knew she was doing that glowering thing. People always told her she glowered when she was concentrating. Maybe it was her eyes that made people feel uncomfortable and nervous, made her look dangerous.  
  
One of her exes once told her she had "Gypsy eyes" -- whatever that meant. Montoya was pretty sure that whatever it meant was probably racist. Why did people always want to categorize everything in such terms, anyway? She sighed, thinking about when she was growing up, how people always looked at her funny when she said her name was Montoya. She'd had people come right up to her and ask: "What are you, anyway?"  
  
_What are you?_    What kind of question was that. They looked at her reddish hair and ruddy complexion as if she were some kind of puzzle, some mysterious thing to be identified, like a smear on a slide under a microscope, instead of a person. She squeezed her hand again.  
  
She didn't understand such things when she was young. Carlos Montoya was the only dad she'd ever known. It wasn't until later, after he'd died, that she found out he wasn't really her father. She remembered her mom on the day of the funeral, placing the framed picture of her dad on top of the bookshelf in the living room, next to the folded flag. How handsome he looked in his white uniform. He was a good man. Kind, generous, strong. Erica adored him. She wanted to be like him.  
  
Then, a few days later, her mother tearfully told her the truth. Her real father had been a young man she knew from high school. He got in trouble and ended up in prison, and shortly after his incarceration, her mother found out she was pregnant.  
  
She never told him about the baby, hoping she'd never see him again. But when he finally got out of prison years later, he contacted her and said he wanted to get back together. She told him no. She was afraid of him by then, because he had almost killed another inmate in prison.  
  
Besides, she was already with Carlos by then. It had taken her about five minutes to fall in love with the tall, dark-haired sailor with the warm smile and easy laugh. He loved Allison too, enough to marry her and raise her young daughter as his own.  
  
Erica was heartbroken by the death of her dad, but the revelation that he was not her biological father sent her into a tailspin. At first, her mother would not divulge the name of the man who had fathered her. But eventually, she gave in. Erica finished school and joined the army reserve. That was where she learned to fight and to shoot. She learned a few other things too, like intelligence gathering and eventually, cyber espionage.  
  
All of that led her down a fascinating path, where she uncovered evidence of covert government surveillance programs, secret assassinations and a mothballed project called Northern Lights. And that, after a year or two of painstaking research, led her to the fact that Sameen Shaw had put two bullets in her father.  
  
And now, Shaw had her tied up on her bedroom floor and was on her way back in from the kitchen. To do what? Would she put two bullets in her as well? Montoya lifted her head to see Shaw walk into the room.  
  
She felt Shaw's hands pick her up roughly and drag her over to a chair, where she forced her to sit. Then she used some thin rope to tie her to the chair. When she finished, Shaw pulled up another chair and sat down, facing her.  
  
"Alright Ricky. You've got some 'splaining to do."  
  
Montoya looked up, her face bruised and bloody, and glared at her captor.  
  
"If you want answers, why don't you just ask your friend. The one who's always in your ear."  
  
"We've been chatting," Shaw replied, her expression flat. "And we've been able to figure out a few things about you. So, why did you lie?"  
  
"Be more specific."  
  
"You told me you had no military training. That was a lie, wasn't it?"  
  
Montoya stared back at Shaw, but said nothing.  
  
"You were in the army reserve. But of course, that didn't turn up in the police department background check because you didn't enlist under the name Montoya. You enlisted under your real father's name. Blackwell."  
  
"Is that a crime?"  
  
"No. But it pisses me off."  
  
"Anything else?" Montoya raised an eyebrow.  
  
"For some reason, your police file was altered so your birthdate didn't come up. But I did some digging and managed to find the information I was after. You are a little older than I thought you were. Twenty-seven. Correct?"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So you obviously became a cadet under false pretenses to get to me. Are you still working for the army?"  
  
"Would I tell you if I were?"  
  
Shaw turned her head slightly to one side and stared at Montoya for a minute.  
  
"Why did you wait?" she asked at last, frowning. "You've had several opportunities to kill me. Why didn't you?"  
  
Montoya's steely gaze faltered slightly and she looked away from Shaw.  
  
"Did you lose your nerve?" Shaw asked, leaning forward. "Or maybe you just couldn't do it while looking me in the eye."  
  
Montoya turned her head and locked eyes with her once again.  
  
"I'm looking at you now," she said. "You hunted my father down like an animal and you shot him twice in the chest, in cold blood."  
  
"I had my reasons."  
  
"I don't give a damn."  
  
Shaw stood up. She realized that was the first time she'd heard Montoya swear. She untied the rope and pulled the younger woman to her feet.  
  
"You will."  
  
"Where are taking me?"  
  
"I want to show you a few things," Shaw said, dragging the struggling Montoya into the simulation room and shoving her onto the recliner.  
  
"What is this?" Montoya demanded as Shaw strapped her legs down and zip-tied her hands to the electronic tactile pads.  
  
"Shut the fuck up," Shaw answered, sliding the shades over Montoya's eyes and clamping on the headphones.  
  
The Machine turned on the simulator and began moving the recliner into position.  
  
"What do you want me to show her? The greatest hits package? A medley perhaps?"  
  
"No," Shaw replied. "Show her everything. The whole story, starting from Berlin."  
  
"OK, she gets the works," The Machine confirmed. "You do realize, this could take all night."  
  
"I'm cool with that."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case people don't get the reference, Berlin is where Shaw's mission takes place when she first appears in "Relevance." So it's the beginning of her story, as it unfolds in canon.


	6. Rapprochement

  
  
Montoya's muscles tensed and Shaw could hear her sigh again. She looked down at the younger woman strapped to the recliner. She was breathing hard -- like she'd just run a marathon -- and her skin was glistening with perspiration. Shaw wanted it to be over.  
  
"Is she OK?" she asked The Machine.  
  
"Almost done," came the answer. "Can you give her some more water? She's going to get dehydrated."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Shaw flipped open the water bottle, which she'd re-filled once the daily water program reset at 6 a.m., and let Montoya take a long sip from the straw.  
  
"We're done," The Machine announced not long afterwards. "Give her a few minutes. I'd like her heart rate to come down a bit before she tries to stand."  
  
Shaw waited briefly before removing the shades and headphones from Montoya. Then she took out a pocket knife and cut the zip ties.  
  
The recliner moved into a sitting position and Shaw helped Montoya slip off. The two women stood for a moment, facing each other, holding each other's forearms. Then Montoya spoke.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "I had no idea. I didn't know."  
  
"How could you? You weren't there."  
  
Montoya tried to sit back on the chair, but almost fell. Shaw caught her and steadied her, quickly slipping an arm around her.  
  
"Can you stand up? How do you feel?"  
  
"I need..." Montoya used the palm of her hand to wipe her eyes. "I need to sleep now."  
  
Shaw helped Montoya back to her own room and into bed. Then she got a basin of warm water, a face cloth and some antiseptic from the medicine cupboard. When she returned to Montoya's bedroom, the younger woman was already asleep on her back. Shaw carefully cleaned the dried blood and sweat from her face, neck, arms and hands and gently dabbed antiseptic on the cuts and bruises. Then she left the room, shutting the door.  
  
"Do you think this is wise?" The Machine was asking.  
  
"I'm just going with my gut right now," Shaw answered, picking up her hand-held and flicking over to the camera monitor in Montoya's room. "She'll sleep for a while anyway."  
  
She walked back into the living room and sat down.  
  
"Were you able to gauge her emotional responses? she asked The Machine.  
  
"Yes. Let me just pull them up," came the reply. "OK. There's initially a lot of anger and resentment."  
  
"Yes, I noticed that," Shaw said dryly.  
  
"I see a marked emotional progression as the simulation continues. She seems to enjoy your missions quite a bit."  
  
"Is she in my persona during the simulation?"  
  
"Sometimes. Other times, she's watching."  
  
"So what's the end result?"  
  
"She's registering a lot of sympathy for you by the end of the simulation. Even some admiration."  
  
"That's good. Anything else show up?"  
  
"Excitement, exhilaration, a fair bit of sexual arousal ... bordering on lust, from what I'm seeing here. Wow, she's registering some pretty intense feelings."  
  
"Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn't have given her that sponge bath. I didn't know she had a thing for me."  
  
"Sorry sweetie, but it's not you she has a thing for."  
  
Shaw raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh. Well, that is certainly an unexpected side effect."  
  
"Maybe. But it's not a bad thing."  
  
"It's not?"  
  
"Suffice to say she understands your motivations completely. And isn't that what we were going for?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess," Shaw shrugged. "Hey, I hope she wasn't in my persona when I shot Jeff Blackwell. That would have been brutal."  
  
"No. She wasn't. I made sure she was standing outside the door when it happened."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Her trigger finger was pretty twitchy."  
  
Shaw sighed.  
  
"Can you keep an eye on her? I'm going to take a shower and then put my head down for a while."  
  
"Go ahead. I'll keep watch."  
  
Hours later, Shaw was sitting at the dining room table with a coffee when Montoya came in and joined her. She still had a lot of bruises on her face, but she didn't look angry anymore. Neither of them said anything for few minutes. Then Montoya spoke.  
  
"Well, at least now I know where you get your fondness for zip-ties."  
  
Shaw gave a half-smile, then turned to face Montoya directly.  
  
"I need to ask you a few questions," she said.  
  
"OK, shoot."  
  
"How much do you know about Northern Lights?"  
  
"About the same as you."  
  
"Have you told anyone else what you've found?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Not the army?"  
  
"No. I'm not working for them anymore."  
  
"So all your research, it was only for your own purposes?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Shaw eyed Montoya sharply, then looked down at her hand-hand screen and tapped it.  
  
"Do you believe me?" Montoya asked.  
  
Shaw stared at her for a moment, biting her lower lip.  
  
"Yeah," she said after a few seconds. "I do."  
  
Montoya sighed, her body language betraying her relief.  
  
"Why?" she asked.  
  
"I'm not sure. I just do."  
  
"So," Montoya ventured. "What are you going to do with me?"  
  
Shaw took a sip of coffee, then put her mug down.  
  
"I'm going to give you two days to make a choice. You can leave town, in which case you don't come near me again, you drop your grudge against me, and in return I'll leave you alone."  
  
"Or?"  
  
"Or you come back to work with me and The Machine. Now that you know what it is."  
  
"You mean help you with the numbers?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Shaw stood up and got Montoya a coffee, then watched quietly as she drank it.  
  
"I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to know your real father," she said after a while.  
  
Montoya didn't answer.  
  
"I lost my father at a young age..." Shaw began.  
  
"Don't," Montoya interrupted her, shaking her head. "Don't say you know how I feel."  
  
"Of course I don't," Shaw said. "I have no idea how you feel. As you probably noticed, I don't have a lot of feelings. But I did love my father. And I still miss him."  
  
Montoya looked at Shaw, searching her dark eyes for something that would confirm the intensity of the words she was speaking. She thought she saw something there, a brief flicker of warmth.  
  
Shaw blinked, then spoke again.  
  
"I loved Root too."  
  
"I got that."  
  
Montoya finished her coffee and stood up.  
  
"Can I go get my stuff?"  
  
"Yeah, go ahead."  
  
The younger woman got up and went into her room for a few minutes, then came back out with a duffel bag. Shaw walked her to the door.  
  
"Can I have my gun back?" Montoya asked, tucking a few strands of auburn hair behind her ear.  
  
"No."  
  
Montoya was silent for a few moments.  
  
"We have a nickname for you. The cadets, I mean."  
  
"Oh? What is it? Shaw-borg or something like that?"  
  
"Ice Cap."  
  
Shaw laughed. "Good one."  
  
They shook hands, which Shaw found a strangely formal gesture under the circumstances, and Montoya left.  
  
Shaw sighed, then went back to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee.  
  
"Do you think she'll come back?" asked The Machine.  
  
"I'm counting on it."  
  



	7. Rapport

  
  
  
Shaw lifted her night-vision goggles and scouted the building across the street. There was definitely something going on over there, but whether it involved the latest number was still to be determined. She lowered the goggles and motioned to Montoya.  
  
"Let's get the sniper rifle set up," she said.  
  
"Did you make the target?" Montoya asked, setting the black case down on the rooftop deck and flipping open the latches.  
  
"Not yet. But I want to be ready."  
  
"Maybe we've got the wrong building."  
  
"No. This is it. The Machine says so."  
  
Montoya clicked her tongue and sighed. Shaw didn't respond, keeping her eye trained on the darkened windows of the building opposite. Her protege opened the case, pulled out the tripod and began setting it up, watching Shaw with a frown.  
  
A few seconds ticked by in silence as Montoya set about assembling the rifle.  
  
"Is that the best you could do?" she asked after a while.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The Machine. Is that the best idea you could come up with for a name?"  
  
"It's not my idea," Shaw answered. "Harold Finch is the one who came up with the name for her ... I mean, it.  
  
"But where is he now?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Finch."  
  
"I don't know," Shaw said. "I don't even know if he's alive."  
  
"So then he won't care if you change its name. Her name."  
  
Shaw frowned and looked over at Montoya, showing her irritation.  
  
"Why don't you come up with a name yourself if you're so fascinated with it," Shaw huffed. "I really don't give a shit."  
  
Montoya shrugged. "Maybe I will."  
  
Shaw shook her head and looked back through the goggles. Then she grabbed Montoya's wrist.  
  
"Look. There."  
  
"Is that our guy?"  
  
"Yeah, that's the bastard."  
  
"Am I going for the kneecap?"  
  
"Make me proud."  
  
Later on, the two of them headed back home on foot, trying to stay out of the sight of the night patrols. Shaw was having a conversation with The Machine and Montoya was only hearing Shaw's side of it. She wondered how long she'd have to wait before she could have that voice in her own earpiece. Well, at least Shaw had given back her gun. Easy does it, Montoya told herself. Shaw was not an easy nut to crack.  
  
Montoya had heard The Machine the odd time, talking to Shaw through the TV or in the kitchen on speaker. Shaw liked to have the speaker on sometimes in the mornings when she'd get her coffee or when she came home at night. It was kind of sweet, although Montoya would never tell Shaw that.  
  
They walked in silence for a while, ducking down a back alley for a shortcut. Shaw seemed deep in thought but Montoya's head was full of questions. She stole a look at Shaw, then decided to go ahead and ask.  
  
"Doesn't it bother you?" she ventured.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That it sounds like her. It has her voice, her quirks, her personality."  
  
Shaw turned and looked at Montoya with a slight frown. At first she didn't answer, then she tightened her mouth and gave a tiny shrug.  
  
"It kind of threw me at first," she said. "Then, after a while, I found it kind of comforting."  
  
"And now you need it."  
  
"What is this? An inquisition?" Shaw asked, annoyed. "I'm not changing its voice. I like it."  
  
"I don't blame you. It's a nice voice."  
  
Shaw looked at Montoya, remembering what The Machine had said about her response to the simulation. The younger woman didn't see the smile on her mentor's face. But Shaw was actually quite pleased with the way Montoya had come along since their altercation months ago. She was the perfect partner for these missions. During the day, she had her regular police work, which usually involved street patrols with senior officers or guard duty at the city reservoir. Shaw knew how boring Montoya found these daily assignments.  
  
But at night, when they had a number, she seemed to switch into a higher gear. She had a quick mind -- and quick fists -- loved danger and enjoyed being in the thick of things. And she also had a strong sense of justice, or at least what she believed justice should be. She simply loved kicking ass.  Last week she'd actually asked Shaw out loud: "Are we going to keep questioning this piece of garbage or can I just start beating the crap out of him?" Yes, she was coming along just fine.  
  
The next issue would be What's Its Name, The Machine. Shaw had yet to allow Montoya to speak directly with her. She knew she might have to one day, but not yet. It would take a while for the younger woman to earn her trust. And that was true of anyone Shaw had ever worked with, including Finch and yes, even Root.  
  
It was late when they got back to Shaw's place but she was pretty hungry and so was Montoya, so they ordered a pizza. They were eating it and streaming a TV show when The Machine broke in with a new number.  
  
"She's a graduate student at the university," The Machine said, putting a slightly blurred, taken-from-a-distance security camera image of a young blonde woman on the screen. "Her name is Morgan Pierce and she's 25."  
  
"OK," Shaw squinted and leaned closer. "Is that the best picture you could find? Where is she right now?"  
  
"She's safe in her bed at the moment. Asleep," said The Machine. "She's got an important lecture tomorrow."  
  
"So what's the big hurry?" asked Shaw. "We can get on this in the morning."  
  
"It's not that there's a big hurry," The Machine replied. "It's just... well.. an important number."  
  
"Oh?" Shaw's curiosity was piqued. "What's so important about her?"  
  
"I'm surprised you didn't twig to the name," The Machine replied. "Her father is something of an associate of ours, although you've never met him in person."  
  
"How could he be an associate that she's never met?" Montoya asked, leaning forward.  
  
Shaw look up at her sharply. Now Montoya was interacting directly with The Machine, as though it was no big deal, just a normal conversation. Shaw hadn't wanted this connection to happen quite yet, but it was now out of her hands. She took a breath, and waited to see how the Machine would respond.  
  
"Oh, hi Ricky. How's your pizza?"  
  
"Good thanks. No green olives next time though. I hate green olives."  
  
"I'll make a note of that."  
  
"I like green olives," Shaw interjected.  
  
"We could just do half and half," The Machine suggested.  
  
"OK. And maybe some extra prosciutto on my half," Montoya said, lifting up her soda to take a quick sip. "So, who's this young woman's father?"  
  
"Do you mind?" Shaw frowned, forcing her way back into the conversation. She turned back to the screen as Montoya smirked.  
  
 "Who is her father?" Shaw asked.  
  
The Machine sounded like she was chuckling for a brief second, then put up a picture of Logan Pierce, the billionaire.  
  
"Logan Pierce heads up our Washington team. He made billions with the Internet site FriendCzar, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, but why doesn't he take care of this number, if it's his own daughter."  
  
"I haven't told him."  
  
"What? Why not?" demanded Shaw, her dark eyes flashing.  
  
The Machine sighed. "Sweetie, you don't know Logan like I do. He'll go off the rails if he hears anything about this. We need to take care of it quietly and I know you two can handle it."  
  
Shaw looked at Montoya, who smiled and nodded gamely.  
  
"OK," said Shaw. "Give us the intel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another father-daughter relationship emerges. It suddenly struck me last Sunday night, after I posted Chapter 6, that this story has a lot of allusions to fathers and daughters. Then I realized that it was Father's Day. I try to ignore Father's Day since my own father died eight years ago, so it doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Or at least that's what I told myself. Obviously it does mean something. I realized that I had written that Montoya's dad had died eight years previous.


	8. Intelligence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. I took a few days to escape to the wilderness. I'm back now. Thinking a bit more clearly.

  
  
  
Montoya shifted in her seat and tried not to fidget. She'd done a couple of years of college but she'd never felt that comfortable in the world of academia. Yet here she was, in the midst of it, trying to fit in with a lecture hall full of Cyber Philosophy students, all intently focused on their tablets and e-readers.  
  
She put on a pair of glasses, which had made Shaw smirk when she first saw them. But Montoya thought they gave her a look of studiousness, and they also served as a physical reminder of her cover persona -- Randee McGillvray -- whom The Machine had registered in several of the courses that Morgan was enrolled in.  
  
She also had another piece of equipment to help her with her assignment -- an earpiece, so that she could hear The Machine and Shaw too, if necessary. Montoya looked around the lecture hall and managed to spot three cameras.  
  
"That's her, third row center, wearing the blue sweater," she heard The Machine say.  
  
"Keener," Montoya replied under her breath as she got up and moved closer to the front of the hall, finding an empty seat in the row behind Morgan, slightly to her right.  
  
The lecture began and Montoya spent most of it watching the young woman in front of her. She was not a difficult subject to be watching. Montoya took careful note of the pleasing shape of her nose and chin, her delicate neck and shoulders and the long, wavy golden hair she wore down to her shoulders. It looked like her real hair color too, not the dyed or bleached shades many young women wore these days.  
  
"Now comes the hard part," Montoya said softly as the lecture ended and the students began packing up and filing out of the large room. "Making contact."  
  
"Take your time," Shaw said in her ear.  
  
She waited for Morgan to get up, then followed her out of the lecture hall and into the quad. The blonde woman walked for a while, finally sitting down on a bench and taking out an e-reader. Montoya walked on by and found another bench about 50 feet away. She kept a keen eye on Morgan, trying not to be too obvious about it. She was just about to get up and walk over, and was trying to think of a good opening line when The Machine suddenly broke into her thoughts and told her to hold up. Montoya looked around and sure enough, a young man with brown hair appeared and walked over to Morgan's bench. They spoke briefly, then Morgan stood up and they walked together out of the quad.  
  
"Who was that?" Montoya asked.  
  
"Unclear," The Machine responded.  
  
"Probably her boyfriend," Shaw added.  
  
"Did we know she had a boyfriend?" asked Montoya.  
  
"No," said the Machine. "I have nothing on him, except for the fact that he shows up on camera around the campus, often with her."  
  
"Could he be the threat?" asked Shaw.  
  
"I'm not sure," answered The Machine. "I'll try to find out more about him. But in the meantime, let's focus on this afternoon's lab. It will be our best opportunity to make contact."  
  
It was indeed an excellent opportunity. Montoya walked into the computer lab and found Morgan completely absorbed in her work, with an empty seat beside her. Montoya slid into it.  
  
"Hi. Looks like I'm your lab partner," she smiled as Morgan looked up.  
  
"Oh, hello," she replied, returning Montoya's smile. "I'm Morgan."  
  
It was all Montoya could do not to gasp audibly. She'd never seen such beautiful brown eyes. They were like caramel melted into chocolate. She stammered out her name in response, almost forgetting her cover.  
  
"What the hell?" she could hear Shaw in her earpiece.  
  
Montoya pulled herself together and began working on the lab project, which was well within her abilities, thanks to the training she'd had in the army. She also fell back on her military training in order not to be distracted by the scent of Morgan's hair, or by the way Morgan would lightly touch her forearm when she spoke to her. Mind over matter, she told herself. Mind over Morgan was more like it.  
  
Once the lab was finished, Montoya headed back to Shaw's place in a taxi-pod, while Shaw took her to task for losing her composure.  
  
"If she gets suspicious, we're done," Shaw scolded.  
  
"Not necessarily," The Machine said gently. "We'll just have to change tactics. But let's not throw in the towel just yet."  
  
"We're going to study together at her place tomorrow," Montoya said. "I'll be able to find out a lot more."  
  
"Good," said The Machine. "I think it's going quite well, despite the blip. She likes you."  
  
"You think so?" Montoya asked, a little too eagerly.  
  
"Holy crap," Shaw broke in. "We're working a number, not running a dating service. If you can't be professional, I'm pulling you out."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Shaw huffed over the earpiece, making Montoya cringe. When she got back to the apartment, she found Shaw staring at her computer screen.  
  
"What's up?" Montoya asked.  
  
"I found some info on the boyfriend," The Machine answered. "His name is Greg Harding and he's studying Digital Genetics."  
  
 "Anything else?" asked Shaw.  
  
"Not much. His online presence shows nothing noteworthy. Just your basic grad student," said The Machine. "I doubt if he's the threat. We'll have to keep looking."  
  
"How long have they been an item?" asked Montoya, as Shaw shot her a look.  
  
"Hard to say," answered the Machine. "Judging by the security camera footage I've been able to find, I'd say they've been together since last spring. And they share an apartment."  
  
"Aces," Montoya said, gritting her teeth as she stared at the picture of Morgan on the screen. "I guess I'll be making Greg's acquaintance tomorrow."  
  
As luck would have it, Greg was nowhere in sight when Montoya arrived at Morgan's apartment the following afternoon. The two of them were soon engrossed in a complicated assignment that Montoya found almost as fascinating as her lab partner.  
   
Morgan, it turned out, was extremely bright, well-read and well-traveled for her 25 years. It wasn't difficult for Montoya to get her talking. It turned out they had similar tastes in music and movies as well as a passion for computers. Montoya soon began carefully steering the conversation to more personal matters.  
  
"Do you have a roommate?" she asked, as Morgan set about making them both tea.  
  
"My boyfriend," she answered. "He's in the Digital Genetics program."  
  
"Oh? What's his name?"  
  
"Greg. He works part time at the research lab. He'll be back later. What about you?"  
  
"Oh, I'm staying with my aunt in the city. I can't afford my own place."  
  
"Nice to have family close by."  
  
"Yeah," Montoya sipped her tea. "Is your family close by or out of state?"  
  
"I don't have much in the way of family," Morgan said, looking out the window. "My father has a place in the city but I don't see him much."  
  
"What does he do?"  
  
"He's in tech. He's always got about six projects going. Plus he travels a lot, all over the country. And beyond."  
  
"Wow. Sounds interesting."  
  
"I wouldn't know. Like I said, I don't see him much."  
  
"I'm sorry," Montoya said, feeling a little guilty about pushing her new friend.  
  
"It's OK," Morgan said, smiling at her. "We don't have a very traditional relationship. He was always more interested in all his expensive toys than in having a daughter. I think I was just another one of his projects."  
  
"Well, didn't your mother look after you?"  
  
"I didn't have a mother. Not that I knew. I was sent to school in Europe and raised there. My father is revoltingly rich. So he just paid other people to care for me. He's not emotionally capable of caring for anyone but himself."  
  
Montoya just stared at her, speechless, trying not to show her shock. Morgan gave her a resigned smile and sighed, shrugging her shoulders.  
  
"Look, it's a long, boring story," she said, picking up her mug and taking a sip of tea. "I'll tell you about it some time if you like. But right now, I'd just like to finish this assignment."  
  
"Sure," Montoya said, turning back to her notebook.  
   
Minutes later, the door opened and the young man from the previous day walked in.  
  
"Hey," he said, with an easy smile.  
  
"Hi," Morgan greeted him. "This is my lab partner, Randee. Randee, this is Greg."  
  
He extended a hand toward Montoya and nodded, his deep blue eyes practically sparkling beneath a mop of light brown hair.  
  
"Nice to meet you," he said.  
  
He seemed able to make dimples appear whenever he smiled. This had no effect on Montoya but seemed to produce an immediate change in Morgan's demeanor. She got up from the table immediately and began making him a coffee.  
  
"So where are you from, Randee?" he asked, sitting down in Morgan's chair.  
  
"Michigan," she answered, sticking to her cover story.  
  
"Really? I know people there. Which part?"  
  
"Grand Rapids."  
  
"Oh," Greg smiled. "But you're here for the digital program of course."  
  
"Of course," Montoya smiled back.  
   
"It's the place to be," Greg said, showing his dimples again. "And if I hadn't come here, I never would have met this gorgeous creature."  
  
He grabbed Morgan's wrist as she put his coffee mug in front of him, then pulled her onto his lap and kissed her.  
  
Morgan pushed him away and got up, embarrassed, but Greg simply laughed and locked his blue eyes with Montoya's.  
  
"You have to appreciate what God sends your way," he said with a wink. "You know what I mean, right?"  
  
Montoya had no idea what he meant. God had obviously been much kinder to Greg than to her. She responded with a tight smile before making an excuse to Morgan and saying goodbye to the pair of them. It was a long, lonely walk home. Montoya didn't feel like taking a taxi-pod. She yanked out her earpiece so she didn't have to talk to Shaw or The Machine on the way.  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Revelation

  
  
Shaw sipped her coffee and stretched an arm across the back of the park bench. That was the signal for Montoya to start following the middle-aged man with the briefcase across the park. He was the latest number.  
  
They were still working Morgan's case as well but it was playing out very slowly. Montoya didn't mind that. She liked a slow burn. And the more she got to know Morgan, the more the flame seemed to grow. They'd spent numerous afternoons and evenings in the library, the coffee shop or at Morgan's place, studying and working together. Sometimes they just talked. They had found an easy intimacy with each other that Montoya had rarely known with anyone else. She knew this was not a good thing, given the situation, but she let it happen because it felt right.  
  
Now she was daydreaming, thinking about the way Morgan would sometimes rest her foot on Montoya's leg while they were half-reclined on the couch, reading together. It was such a familiar gesture. Once or twice, she had thought about moving closer and slipping her hand onto Morgan's knee...  
  
"Hey!" Shaw shouted in her earpiece.  
  
"Yeah, I'm here."  
  
"Pay attention. Fuck."  
  
"I am. He's going into the pool hall now."  
  
"You go around the back and head in that way. I'll go in the front door."  
  
"Gotcha."  
  
Ten minutes later, they were walking back through the park, with Shaw carrying the briefcase. Montoya was rubbing her bruised knuckles, wondering if Morgan would notice them. She would have to put some antiseptic on them when she got home. Maybe some ice to take the swelling down. Maybe...  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"What? Sorry."  
  
"Where the hell is your head lately?"  
  
"Nowhere. It's... nothing."  
  
Shaw looked at her and frowned. "It's not nothing. It's that girl. We've been watching her for weeks and there's no sign of any threat. Maybe we are going about it the wrong way."  
  
"No," Montoya responded quickly. "I'm sure it's the boyfriend. Something about him doesn't seem right."  
  
"Says you," Shaw replied. "Your judgment might be a little clouded."  
  
"It's not that. She seems weird around him. Like he's got her under a spell or something."  
  
"Maybe she's in love," Shaw suggested dryly.  
  
Now it was Montoya's turn to frown. She didn't speak for a long while as they walked. Then, she suddenly turned to look at Shaw again.  
  
"What did you do... to make her so crazy about you?"  
  
"Who, Root?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I don't know. Nothing."  
  
"You must have done something."  
  
"No, I really didn't," Shaw replied. "In fact, I didn't want her around me at all in the beginning. I brushed her off, pushed her away. But it didn't seem to discourage her. She kept coming back for more."  
  
Shaw took a deep breath. "She always came back to me. No matter what."  
  
They walked in silence for a minute or two.  
  
"So you played hard to get."  
  
"I wasn't playing."  
  
"But there must have been something that kept her coming back. Besides your natural animal magnetism, I mean."  
  
"Why all the questions?" Shaw asked, giving Montoya an irritated look.  
  
"No reason."  
  
When they got home, Montoya went to her room and got into bed but Shaw made herself a coffee and sat at the table, looking at pictures on her tablet.  
  
The next day, Montoya brought Morgan back to her place to study. It seemed like a good idea, since they'd always gone to Morgan's place and Montoya didn't want her to be suspicious about anything.  
  
Shaw came home from work a couple of hours later. Montoya had given her a heads up but Shaw seemed taken aback when she was introduced to the young blonde woman.  
  
"This is my Aunt Lucy," Montoya told Morgan. "Aunt Lucy, this is Morgan, she's in my class."  
  
Morgan smiled, said hello and took Shaw's hand. Shaw did not say a word. Montoya took Morgan back into the living room, shooting a puzzled look toward Shaw, who appeared to be stunned.  
  
"I have to go out," Shaw stammered, turning and heading out the door, then downstairs to the street. Once outside, she stood trembling for a moment, then finally said the name out loud. The name of the person whose eyes had met hers again, just minutes ago. After all these years.  
  
"Breathe," The Machine told her.  
  
"I'm trying."  
  
"She didn't want you to know," The Machine said.  
  
"She didn't want me to know she had a daughter? Why the hell not?"  
  
"She was trying to protect you both."  
  
"Protect us from what?"  
  
"From anyone who might have tried to get to Morgan or to you, in order to get to me."  
  
"You knew. You knew and you didn't tell me."  
  
"Shaw..."  
  
"Find Logan Pierce," Shaw demanded.  
  
"I didn't want to bring him in on this."  
  
 "Find him now. Tell him I want to talk to him about Morgan."  
  
A few hours later, Shaw was in Logan's penthouse suite, waiting for the billionaire to show up. The elevator dinged, announcing his arrival. He'd flown over by chopper from D.C.  
  
"Is Morgan OK?" he asked immediately. "Where is she?"  
  
"She's back at her apartment. Safe. For now," Shaw replied. "But it's me you need to be worried about right now. I want some answers."  
  
Logan stood for a moment with one hand in his jacket pocket. Then he walked over to the bar.  
  
"Drink?" he asked.  
  
"The gun's gone," Shaw said. "I swept the place when I came in."  
  
Logan bit his lip and stared at her for a moment. "You've got some balls, my cagey friend."  
  
"I've also got a .44 Magnum. Sit your ass down."  
  
"Play nice you two," The Machine broke in through Shaw's earpiece and Logan's speaker system.  
  
"Well, I'm getting myself a drink first, regardless," Logan said, pouring a healthy double shot of Scotch into a glass and then sitting down on the couch across from Shaw.  
  
"I didn't know you had a daughter," Shaw began.  
  
"I try to keep her away from the rest of my life. To keep her safe. That's why she grew up in Europe. I wanted the best for her."  
  
"The best? With no mom or dad? What kind of life is that?"  
  
Logan shook his head and looked down.  
  
"I was young," he said. "I'd just made my first billion. I'd made my mark on the world, but..."  
  
"But it wasn't enough. You wanted your brilliant genes to be carried on."  
  
"Well, it sounds awfully arrogant when you put it like that," Logan said flippantly, taking a sip of his drink.  
  
"I never wanted to get married or raise a big family, but yeah, I wanted to have a child. I wanted it to be just mine. No one else's. I knew I could provide everything a child would need. So I went to a very exclusive clinic and made the arrangements."  
  
"There weren't too many egg donors who met my requirements," he continued, looking not at Shaw but out through the massive windows into the dark night sky. "I wanted someone, well ... exceptional. Like me."  
  
"A designer baby," prompted Shaw.  
  
He shook his head again and smiled at her. "Don't be so judgmental. People do it all the time. You think people don't choose the kind of partner that would give them the offspring they desire? Didn't you ever want children yourself?"  
  
"That's none of your damn business."  
  
"Well, anyway, I could afford to have my standards met. Maybe it was selfish of me. Like I said, I was young."  
  
He took another sip of his drink and looked at the holographic fire in the fireplace.  
  
"I found a donor who was very special. And she had brown eyes. That was another thing I insisted upon. My mother had brown eyes."  
  
"OK, so you picked Root."  
  
"I didn't know who the donor was," Logan said with a shrug. "It was anonymous -- just  an eight-digit number. It was only later that I found out it was Samantha Groves. I never met her."  
  
"So how did you find out she was the donor."  
  
Logan looked up and smiled at Shaw.  
  
"She left a digital time capsule -- an encrypted message embedded into her donor number that was coded to activate 16 years after Morgan's birth and send itself to the client -- me. It was meant to be a message from a mother to her daughter, telling her who she was. Pretty brilliant when you think about it. Morgan was in school in Switzerland by then. I was going to tell her..."  
  
"So why didn't you?"  
  
"When I found out that Samantha Groves had died, I decided not to tell Morgan anything. She'd already had enough heartache in her life with me as a father. I just didn't see the point."  
  
"The point is that Root had a daughter I didn't know about!"  
  
"I'm sorry. But Samantha Groves had no legal right to Morgan and neither do you."  
  
"You're a fucking ...."  
  
"Look, I realize you're angry," Logan interrupted her, leaning forward. "Maybe you should ask The Machine why you were kept in the dark for so long. And why you are suddenly being looped in now."  
  
He looked toward the camera in the wall above the fireplace. "I'd like to know the answer to that one myself."  
  
"Morgan's number came up," The Machine replied.  
  
"What?" Logan jumped to his feet, livid. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"  
  
Shaw sighed and rolled her eyes. "Welcome to my nightmare."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so those of you who theorized that Root was Morgan's mother were correct. There were a couple of hints in there but the eye color was probably a giveaway.


	10. Confrontation

  
  
  
Logan strode over to a video screen on the wall and flipped up a digital map of all the numbers his team was working on. He started swiping it, peering at different locations in the city.  
  
"What have you done? Oh I see ... you've created a blind spot so I couldn't see Morgan on here," he chided The Machine. "You had no right to do that."  
  
Shaw was on her feet quickly as Logan began arguing with The Machine.  
  
"I'm calling in my people on this," he said, ignoring The Machine's attempts to calm him.  
  
"Just a second," Shaw interjected, grabbing his arm. "I'm working this number, not you."  
  
"Get off me!" Logan yelled angrily, shoving Shaw aside.  
  
A second later, Logan was in a headlock and The Machine was working on trying to calm Shaw.  
  
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow , ow, ow..." Logan repeated his chant of pain over and over until Shaw finally released him and shoved him away.  
  
"Ow!" he said again, rubbing his elfin ear and glaring at Shaw. "Take it easy on an old guy."  
  
"You're not that much older than I am," she scoffed, forcing him backwards and against the wall. "Now listen. I'll let you and your team get involved, but on my terms. I'm the one in charge, got it?"  
  
Logan straightened his jacket and shrugged. "Fine. But if anything happens to Morgan, I'm coming after you with a gun so big you won't be able to jack it."  
  
"Did you just threaten me?" Shaw's eyes turned fierce again and she reached for Logan's jacket as he put up his hands defensively.  
  
"Stop it you two!" The Machine shouted. "This isn't helping Morgan. You both need a time out. Stand away from each other."  
  
Shaw and Logan disengaged reluctantly and a sheepish Logan took several steps back. There was a humming sound and a thin, bluish-white laser cut through the air between them, drawing a line from wall to wall as it moved from the ceiling to the floor. When the laser was finished, Shaw reached forward and felt a hard surface against her hand. An invisible wall.  
  
"What the hell?" Shaw gasped.  
  
"It's a security device I had installed," Logan explained. "In case someone tries to break in. Someone less charming than yourself."  
  
Shaw gave him a scornful look.  
  
"It's shatter-proof, fire-proof, bullet-proof and it's wired into my security system, but of course The Machine has access," he said, tapping repeatedly on his hand-held device. "And right now The Machine is overriding my commands."  
  
"For your own good," The Machine interjected. "The two of you are going to have to work together and stop fighting each other. Do you both understand?"  
  
Shaw and Logan both glared at each other, then nodded.  
  
"Sure boss," Logan said, putting his device into his pocket before turning back to Shaw with a tight smile. "Have you identified the threat?"  
  
"Not yet," Shaw replied as Logan threw up his hands in frustration. "We haven't been able to isolate anything tangible and my agent is still trying to get intel from the inside."  
  
"Your agent?"  
  
"She's Morgan's age. She's her classmate and she's managed to gain her confidence. We can't move too suddenly on this without alarming your daughter."  
  
"Wait a minute," Logan said. "So Morgan's number came up, but you don't know why?"  
  
"There have been some vague threats made against the university in chat rooms and emails," said The Machine. "Some of them involve the computer lab -- some work going on there that Morgan's been involved in. But there's no date and no specific plot. There's just enough chatter to set off the numbers protocol."  
  
"Can we lose the wall?" Logan asked.  
  
The laser whooshed up to the ceiling and Logan walked past Shaw to the screen on the wall. He flicked over the screen to a search menu and began inputting data.  
  
"Do we even know who's making these threats?" he asked.  
  
"That's the weird part," The Machine answered. "I can't trace them back to anyone. They seem to go in a cycle, then they disappear. It's like a loop that feeds back on itself. There's no point of origin."  
  
"That's impossible," Logan said with a frown. "They must come from somewhere, from someone."  
  
"Yes," answered The Machine. "But whoever it is has managed to cover their tracks."  
  
"Well, I'm not going to sit around and wait for something to happen," Logan said resolutely. "I'm pulling her out of school. She can come live with me. At least she'll be safe."  
  
"And how do you think she'll respond to that?" Shaw asked. "She already resents you."  
  
"How dare you tell me how to handle my own daughter."  
  
"Handle? She's a grown woman."  
  
"Enough!" shouted The Machine. "Do I have to put the wall up again? Sheesh."  
  
Just then Shaw's phone went off.  
  
"It's Montoya," she said, tapping her earpiece. "Hey, I've got stuff to tell you."  
  
"I've got stuff to tell you too," Montoya told her in an anxious voice. "Something's wrong at Morgan's place. I found out the security cameras have been playing a loop for the past several hours. So I went over there ..."  
  
Shaw put a hand to her ear to block out the sound of Logan's frantic questions. But even so, she still heard the sound of the elevator dinging. The light above the elevator doors glowed red just as every computer screen in the penthouse went fuzzy.  
  
"Shaw..." The Machine began, then fizzled out.  
  
The elevator doors opened and Morgan stepped out, followed by Greg, who was holding a gun to her head.  
  
"See, I told you they'd both be here," he said with a wide grin that brought out his dimples once again. "Hello folks."


	11. Revenge

  
  
"Hello Shaw. It's been a while," the young man said with a smirk. "Please don't bother going for your gun."  
  
"You. You little shit."  
  
"So you do remember me. I was hoping you'd recognize the face. Although to be fair, I met Samantha Groves in the flesh and you during a simulation. And that was what, at least 14 years ago, right? I've grown up a bit."  
  
"You're still a little shit."  
  
"And you are still an irritation."  
  
The young man shoved Morgan ahead of him into the room, keeping the gun trained on her.  
  
"Who are you?" shouted Logan, starting toward him, until Shaw grabbed his arm to stop him.  
  
"He's Gabriel Hayward," Shaw told him. "He worked for Samaritan. Until we blew it to smithereens."  
  
"And now it's time for payback," Gabriel replied. "I'm taking your Machine."  
  
"Like hell you are," countered Shaw. "You think we'd give you access?"  
  
"I think you have no choice," Gabriel laughed, nodding towards Morgan. "Give me The Machine, or I shoot her. It's as easy as that."  
  
Logan was trembling with rage. "I'll kill you."  
  
"I don't think so," Gabriel replied. "I think you'll do as I ask."  
  
He pressed the gun against Morgan's head and turned to Shaw. "You. Get down on the floor. I want you face down with your hands behind your back. Move."  
  
Shaw clenched her jaw but complied, and Gabriel tossed a zip tie to Logan. "Zip-tie her hands. Nice and tight. Hurry up."  
  
Logan did so, glaring angrily at Gabriel the whole while.  
  
"Thanks, old sport." Gabriel said. "Now it's your turn. Morgan will tie your hands. Go ahead."  
  
"Sorry Dad," Morgan whispered through her tears as she zip-tied his wrists.  
  
"It's OK, just do what he says," Logan answered.  
  
"Shut up!" Gabriel ordered, pulling Morgan away and forcing Logan to sit with his back against the bar.  
  
Still holding the gun, Gabriel pushed Morgan into a chair and then knelt down to frisk Shaw, finding her holstered gun, plus the one she'd taken from Logan's bar. He zip-tied her ankles, removing the knife she'd strapped there, then pulled out her earpiece and the mini-phone that was clipped to her inside pocket.  
  
"Well look at this," he smiled. "This is exactly the kind of thing I was looking for. A connection to The Machine. Of course, I used a signal jammer on my way in so there's no connection at the moment."  
  
He plugged the mini-phone into a device in his hand.  
  
"When I turn off the jammer, there will be a surge from your Machine. It doesn't matter how big or small it is. All I need is a tiny piece of digital DNA."  
  
He stood next to Shaw's prone body and laughed, placing his boot on her neck.  
  
"Once I'm done crushing your Machine, I'm going to crush you. Right under my heel. Like this."  
  
Shaw grimaced as Gabriel pressed down, ignoring Morgan's pleas for him to stop.  
  
"Hey asshole!" Logan suddenly yelled. "You haven't explained how you plan to destroy The Machine. Even Samaritan couldn't do it. What makes you think a twerp like you can?"  
  
Gabriel smiled, lifted his boot from Shaw's neck and walked over to Logan as Shaw coughed and gasped for air.  
  
"I can because I'm smart," he replied, rummaging through Logan's pockets and pulling out his hand-held device. "Ooh, what's this? You and your toys. When are you going to grow up?"  
  
He dropped the device onto the floor and stomped on it.  
  
"So anyway, back to your question. How does one destroy a virtually impregnable fortress like The Machine?" Gabriel said, leaning casually against the bar. "I've tried lots of stealth attacks over the years, tried hacking into it, uploading a Trojan horse, getting a worm or a virus to invade. Nothing worked."  
  
"So I decided to take a different approach," he continued with a dramatic sigh. "Instead of trying to get inside The Machine, I'm going to kill it from the outside. I'm going to strangle it."  
  
"You really need an evil laugh to go with that little monologue," Logan said. "How about 'Bwah, ha ha' or something in that vein?"  
  
Gabriel slammed his gun into Logan's face, sending the billionaire over to his side on the floor as Morgan screamed.  
  
"You're not taking this seriously enough," Gabriel said, bending over Logan's writhing form. "Digital genetics. It's the future you know."  
  
"OK, I'll explain, since you seem so interested," he continued, standing up again. "I create self-replicating strands of computer code, then I get them to grow, like flowers in a hot-house. Pretty soon, well, you get the idea. Bwah ha ha."  
  
He kicked Logan in the gut. "Don't call me asshole."  
  
Morgan gasped and Gabriel shot her a look, then walked back over to where Shaw was now lying on her side, trying to recover from his sadistic assault.  
  
"I think he was trying to distract me," he said, nodding towards Logan. "Wasn't that gallant of him? Trying to save you. Save _you_ , Shaw! When you're the one who's supposed to be saving everyone else."  
  
He sat down on the arm of the chair, slinging his gun arm around Morgan's neck.  
  
"I knew you'd come to her rescue. Just a tiny bit of online noise and Bingo! Her number comes up and you come running. Once a soldier, always a soldier."  
  
Shaw glared at him, trying not to make it too obvious that she'd managed to work one of her wrists loose while he was beating Logan. She had another knife. If she could just reach it...  
  
Just then, the light above the elevator lit up again and Gabriel wheeled around to look at it. The tiny screen there flickered, glowed a ghostly white, then displayed a faint message: "Emergency manual override." There was dead silence as the numbers flickered in their steady sequence, counting each floor up to the penthouse. At last, there was a polite "ding" as the doors slid open and Montoya walked in. She barely had time to take in the scene when Gabriel slammed the butt-end of his gun into her head, sending her to the floor as Morgan leapt to her feet and cried out.  
  
"Greg, stop!"  
  
"My name is Gabriel," he shouted at her. "Haven't you been listening?"  
  
He bent over Montoya, taking her gun, then grabbed Morgan's wrist and pulled her towards him.  
  
"Leave her alone!" Logan shouted.  
  
"But I can't," Gabriel replied. "I need her more than ever now. She's going to help me finish what I came to do."  
  
Gabriel put his arm around Morgan again and pulled her in front of him, with the gun pointed towards her head.  
  
"You don't know how special she is," he explained. "She has an unusual talent. She can communicate telepathically with a computer. Can't you, my dear?"  
  
 Morgan struggled, but Gabriel held her fast.    
  
"Did you think it was just a coincidence that I chose someone so genetically exceptional? Look at her. She's smart, she's beautiful and she has this gift."  
  
He smirked, watching Montoya try to get up.  
  
"By the way, she's also straight," he said with a mocking tone. "So it looks like you are out of luck, my dark gingered, Bowie-esque friend."  
  
"That's it," Montoya snarled, gaining her feet. "Make fun of my hair, make fun of my clothes, make fun of my name. Nobody disses Bowie in my presence."  
  
She threw herself into Gabriel, sending him backwards and freeing Morgan as the gun went flying. Shaw struggled to grasp the knife that was barely touching her fingertips, contorting her body on the floor amid the yelling that ensued, while Gabriel and Montoya fought for the gun that was lying a few feet away. Montoya landed a few good blows but Gabriel managed to grasp the weapon, then shoved Montoya backwards, away from him.  
  
He took a breath, pointing the gun at Montoya, and smiled.  
  
"Survival of the fittest," he said.  
  
Just then, the laser beam crackled to life again and began moving down to the floor.  
  
Gabriel looked confused for a moment, then fired at Montoya, frowning as the bullets glanced off the invisible wall. Yelling in frustration, he smashed the gun against the wall, then kicked it as Montoya stood before him, astonished.  
  
Morgan was at Montoya's side in an instant, embracing her as Gabriel began to rage inside his invisible prison. Finally, he walked over to the elevator and punched the button, smiling with smug satisfaction as the red light came on.  
  
"Look at this. I got what I wanted and you've left me an escape route," Gabriel laughed as the elevator dinged. "Idiots!"  
  
The doors opened and Gabriel quickly stepped through them, half-turning as he did so. For a split second, Montoya saw his expression turn to one of horror just before he plunged into the darkness, his scream echoing through the shaft.  
  
The laser zipped up into the ceiling, deactivating the wall. No one moved for a few seconds, then Montoya walked cautiously to the elevator doors and peered through them, over the edge.  
  
"What the hell happened?" Shaw asked, cutting her ankles loose and scrambling to her feet. She was soon at Montoya's side, bracing herself against the elevator doors and craning her neck to see into the dark abyss of the shaft.  
  
"The elevator's at the bottom," Montoya said, turning away. "And so is he."  
  
"Did you do that with the remote?" Shaw asked Logan. "I thought it was smashed up."  
  
"It was!" Logan replied. "The security system should have been air-gapped while the Machine is down."  
  
"So who turned on the wall and screwed with the elevator?" asked Shaw, pulling the remnants of the zip-ties from her wrist.  
  
Morgan was already kneeling at her father's side, helping him to sit up.  
  
"I did," she said, as the elevators doors closed.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked this chapter a bit to fix a few issues. I think it works much better now.


	12. Penance

  
  
  
There was just enough light squeaking in through the slats in the deck to allow Shaw a glimpse of the morning sky, a whiff of the salt air. It was daybreak, at last. She felt a jolt of excitement mixed with a tiny bit of dread. That familiar cocktail working its magic deep down in pit of her stomach, in the center of her.  
  
She took a deep breath, wondering how much longer she'd have to wait until they came for her. It was dark in the tiny hold where they were keeping her and there was a dank, stale smell that reminded her of the canvas sails she'd spent so much time sliding up and down the masts. It wasn't a completely unpleasant smell. It added to the anticipation. Shaw drew a deep breath and listened. Yes, she could hear voices and footsteps drawing near.  
  
Suddenly, the hatch was yanked open and several rough hands reached for her, grabbing her by her loose cotton shirt and around her arms, pulling her up into the sunlight. Shaw closed her eyes immediately, blinded by the harsh light after being in the dark for so long. Her feet barely touched the wooden hardness of the deck before she felt herself being half-carried, half-dragged toward the network of rigging below the main mast.  
  
The rough hands shoved her toward the mass of rigging, forcing her to stand up and untying her hands. Then each of her hands was retied and pulled upwards, stretching into the rigging above her head and fastened there. She took another deep breath, feeling her muscles being stretched and pulled. The back of her neck was already warm and sweaty beneath her braid of hair. Someone kicked the inside of one of her legs from behind, forcing her to widen her stance. Then someone ripped open her shirt from the back. Shaw's stomach knotted tighter. The other crew members were muttering behind her, then a loud voice called out above the others.  
  
"Shaw, you  are guilty of dereliction of duty. You have failed your confederates. The sentence to be delivered, twenty lashes."  
  
Shaw tried to turn her head and look behind her. She could hear the other sailors' voices rising again, and the sound of the cat-o-nine tails being snapped in the mate's hand. The mate took a few paces, then turned. As he raised his arm to strike the first blow, Shaw closed her eyes, bracing herself. But there was nothing. No lash. No pain. No sound.  
  
Shaw twisted around as best she could to see the mate's forearm high in the air, a long-gloved hand clamped tightly around it, holding it fast.  
  
"No!" commanded the feminine voice, as a hush fell over all those on deck. "This is my ship."  
  
The captain yanked the cat from the mate's hands, then walked slowly over to where Shaw was bound in the rigging, the sound of her tall boots creaking on the deck.  
  
Shaw looked up to see Root's soft brown eyes peering at her from beneath the brim of her hat, a few strands of wavy hair that had escaped her braid blowing in the brisk wind. She leaned in, so only Shaw could hear her words.  
  
"You want this?" she asked, the high collar of her Royal Navy uniform framing her angular features.  
  
"Fuck yeah."  
  
"You think you deserve it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then I will deliver these lashes. Expect no mercy."  
  
Shaw almost whimpered as Root walked back, her boots making a steady beat on the deck and then, finally, stopping. There was a brief pause, then the sound of Root catching her breath, then the sound of the cat's knotted ends whistling through the air and landing on Shaw's back.  
  
Shaw gasped at the first taste of the lash stinging her skin. The mate counted one and Shaw heard Root take a step, then another, and then the cat was singing again. The second lash stung harder and Shaw grunted but didn't cry out. Two. Shaw heard the cat snap back into Root's hand.  
  
She made Shaw wait for the next one. The salty air stung as Root slapped the cat into her gloved palm again and again. A breeze blew across the ship's sails, causing the ropes and the mast to creak softly. The captain's boots tapped across the deck again, moving back, farther away. Then Shaw hear Root's footsteps quickening, coming towards her. She was taking it at a run this time.  
  
The whip cracked and Shaw's knees buckled as she felt it hit her. Three. A sound came out of Shaw's throat as she felt her weight pulling down on her wrists but she managed to straighten up again.  
  
The fourth one staggered Shaw even more. The fifth made her legs give out completely. She was panting, trying not to moan. Two sailors pulled her up to her feet again. Root waited a few minutes, then let her have number six.  
  
Shaw cried out and lost her legs again. She was hanging by her wrists now, whimpering, the wind whipping against her.  
  
Root was soon at her ear, her hand in the back of Shaw's hair, her breath warm on her skin.  
  
"I told you no mercy."  
  
"No mercy."  
  
"You want this."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You want me to fuck you afterwards."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You want me to tie you down and fuck you, Sameen."  
  
"Yes. Fuck, yes."  
  
Root walked back to her place and swung the cat around a few times. Then Shaw heard Root grunt softly as she swung again, finding a fresh spot lower on Shaw's back. The knotted ends of the cat wrapped around Shaw's lower torso and struck her side. Seven. Again on the other side. Eight.  
  
Shaw closed her eyes, savoring the pain and the feeling of Root's soft hand massaging her bare shoulder.  
  
"We've still got a way to go," Root whispered.  
  
"Keep going."  
  
Root walked back again and gave her the ninth lash. Shaw fell almost to her knees and began moaning.  
  
"Re-tie her! Tighter!" Root ordered.  
  
Several sailors approached and untied Shaw's wrists. Two of them then helped lift her up while the others retied her wrists in the rigging and then tied her feet to the rigging as well, so she was spread eagle.  
  
The next three lashes left her moaning louder as she swung in the rigging, at the mercy of the wind.  
  
"Water, water," Shaw gasped through her dry lips.  
  
A sailor walked over with a flask but Root snatched it from him. She then poured it slowly through the ropes onto Shaw's waiting tongue. Shaw swallowed, her eyes closed.  Root was stroking the back of her neck.  
  
"We can stop," she whispered.  
  
"No. You said no mercy."  
  
Root sighed and walked back again. Three more lashes were delivered as Shaw felt herself losing consciousness. She wasn't sure exactly how much time passed, but she opened her eyes to see the ropes stretched in front of her face and a sailor with a bucket of water. He threw it on her, reviving her.  
  
Shaw sputtered and gasped, feeling the water tricking down her face, her back, stinging her. Root walked around to face her again.  
  
"Please ... please ..." Shaw whispered.  
  
"Please what? Please stop?"  
  
"No. Please finish."  
  
The wind whistled through the rigging again as Root walked slowly to her spot. The final blows were counted off and Shaw took them in a frozen silence, then passed out.  
  
When she came to, all the other sailors were gone and she was lying on the deck on her side, her head in Root's lap. Long fingers were tenderly stroking her damp, tangled hair. Neither of them spoke for a long while, then Shaw managed to move her lips.  
  
"I'm bleeding all over your sexy uniform," she said, smiling weakly.  
  
"Isn't that what you wanted?"  
  
Shaw responded with a bitter laugh. "What I want .... what I really want, I can never have again."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"You."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's a BDSM chapter. I've been wanting to write this scene for a while, since I think it illustrates some of Shaw's inner turmoil. One of the (many) things I've always loved about Shaw is the way she totally owns her masochistic tendencies. Incidentally, this is not the first time I've written about Root flogging Shaw, or Shaw wanting it.


	13. Affinity

  
  
  
Morgan slipped the knitted cozy back over the tea pot, picked up the two cups of tea and brought them over to the low table in the living room, where Montoya was waiting on the couch. She noticed Morgan was using china tea cups this time instead of the mugs she'd been using before.  
  
"Thanks," Montoya said, taking her cup. "You're the only person I know who drinks tea."  
  
"It comes from living in Europe for so long," Morgan smiled back. "I spent several years in England when I was young. My nannies were English and most of my teachers were Brits too. I think Earl Grey must run through my veins by now."  
  
"It's nice," Montoya said. "I like the way you make it."  
  
She took a sip, then put her tea cup down. The tea was fancier this time as well, or at least it tasted fancier. She wasn't sure what that meant, exactly.  
  
"So..." she said, clearing her throat nervously.  
  
Morgan laughed. "So?"  
  
"Well, are you going to stay here? I guess the memories might not be the greatest."  
  
"I'm staying for now," Morgan replied. "I want to finish my degree and I like this apartment. It was mine before Greg -- I mean Gabriel -- moved in."  
  
Montoya shifted and cleared her throat again. "Why did you..? I mean, um ..." she trailed off.  
  
"Why did I stay with him? He knew about me. My abilities. I've tried for so long to hide them. They scared me at first. The way computers would automatically wake up when I entered a room. The way I'd hear them counting ones and zeroes in my head, asking me if I could hear them. I told a schoolmate once and she called me a witch. A witch!"  
  
She lifted her tea cup to her lips and sipped, then went on.  
  
"Gabriel was even more cruel. He called me a freak, a mutant. He said he'd expose me if I didn't obey him. I was so afraid that he'd out me. I didn't want to be different."  
  
"You are not a freak," Montoya replied. "You are amazing. And there's nothing wrong with being different."  
  
Morgan turned to Montoya and squeezed her hand.  
  
"I wish I'd known you before."  
  
"Me too," Montoya said, feeling her whole face becoming warm. Oh, God. Was she blushing? Shit. She hoped Morgan hadn't noticed what a blundering fool she became around her.  
  
It was bad enough, having to explain that she'd been lying about her name, about who she was. She had been terrified that Morgan would condemn her for her deceit and send her away. But she hadn't.  
  
Even now, Montoya's clumsy lack of confidence didn't seem to faze the young woman she'd fallen for. Morgan seemed to find it charming. She smiled warmly at Montoya, then casually flipped open the laptop on the table and closed her eyes for a few minutes. Montoya watched her quietly, taking the moment to appreciate her exquisite profile, her long nose and the golden, wavy hair that fell down her neck. That hair would feel so soft, so nice in her hands...  
  
Morgan opened her eyes, then turned to Montoya and smiled again. She smiled a lot.  
  
"Were you in a trance?" Montoya asked, immediately feeling stupid for doing so.  
  
"No, of course not," Morgan replied with a laugh. "I was using my laptop to try to find Gabriel's stash of computers. He has banks of them set up in the research lab at school."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"He's been using them to propagate his code, replicating each organism on a separate computer. He thinks of them as living creatures. _Thought,_ I mean."  
  
Morgan sighed, then went on.  
  
"I was hoping I could access them remotely but he's got them completely isolated -- air-gapped. I would have thought he'd leave himself a back door of some kind."  
  
"So he could download the DNA from The Machine once he had it," Montoya ventured.  
  
"Yes," Morgan nodded. "I figured he'd want to do that quickly. But he was too smart to take a shortcut and leave his work vulnerable."  
  
"Well, he wasn't smart enough to out-maneuver you," Montoya said, picking up her cup again for another sip.  
  
Morgan was quiet for a moment, staring out the window. Then she shook her head.  
  
"I'm not sorry about what I did," she said. "Of course, I'm not exactly ecstatic about it either. But I did what needed to be done."  
  
She leaned forward and reached for Montoya's empty tea cup.  
   
"Would you like another cup?" she smiled.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Montoya looked at the screensaver on Morgan's laptop. It was an animated sequence of scenes featuring Catwoman. Catwoman escaping a trap. Catwoman leaping across rooftops. Catwoman brandishing a whip and breaking into a jewelry store.  
   
Montoya watched the scenes for a while, marveling at the black-clad character's grace and agility. Catwoman was hot. And watching the sequences gave her an idea.  
                                                                 
"I can help you," she said, as Morgan returned with her fresh cup of tea.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Well, since we can't get into Gabriel's computers from here, we might as well just break into the lab and do it from the inside."  
  
"It's locked. He kept it under tight security."  
  
"So what? You're looking at a virtuoso safe cracker with military training. Let's find a night when there's no one working at the lab and we'll bust in there and take down his nasty little island of evil."  
  
Morgan raised her eyebrows, then sat down next to her.  
  
"A badass cop who likes to bend the rules and a philosophical computer whisperer. Aren't we just the perfect cliche?" she laughed, taking a sip of her tea.  
  
The look on Montoya's face made her stop and put her tea cup down on the table.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean that to sound so flippant."  
  
"It's OK," Montoya replied, looking down.  
  
"God, you are so intense," Morgan said with the most gentle frown as she reached for Montoya's hand.  
  
"I am?"  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry."  
  
Morgan smiled. "Don't be. It's one of the things I really like about you."  
  
"It is?'  
  
Morgan smiled again and nodded. Montoya swallowed nervously as the young woman sitting next to her moved even closer.  
  
"You know, I enjoy a slow burn as much as the next person," Morgan said softly. "But if I keep waiting for you to make a move, we'll be sitting on this couch when we're 80."  
  
She leaned forward, closing her eyes, and Montoya felt a hand gently touch her face and soft lips brushing hers. After that, she didn't think much about anything. Her mouth was on Morgan's mouth and her arms were around her and there was nothing else that mattered. Mind over Morgan.  
             


	14. Imbroglio

  
  
  
  
The last of Sunday's water was barely enough to fill half a glass. Shaw drank it anyway. She needed it. She was dehydrated. Sitting up all night drinking scotch will do that do a person. Besides, she thought, it was her place. She could hog all the water if she wanted to. Montoya hadn't been home all night anyway.  
  
And where was Montoya now? Shaw wondered. She'd been spending a lot of time at Morgan's place and when the two of them were at Shaw's, they were either in the simulation room or in Montoya's room, studying. Or so they said.  
  
Shaw huffed. They were acting like a couple of teenagers and it pissed her off. She didn't even know exactly why it pissed her off. It just did.   
  
She tried to fill her glass again but the water dispenser flashed red and emitted an irritating beeping sound.  
  
"We're out," The Machine explained through the kitchen speaker.   
  
"Override the system," Shaw instructed.  
  
"Shaw...."  
  
"What?" Shaw frowned. "I want to take a shower later. A long one."  
  
She heard The Machine sigh. There was a click and the dispenser's light turned green. Shaw put her glass under the nozzle and refilled it.  
  
"You're welcome," The Machine prompted.   
  
Shaw drank her water without replying, then went to sit down at the table.  
  
"Well, something's obviously bugging you," The Machine ventured. "What is it?"  
  
"Anything and everything."  
  
"Be more specific."  
  
Shaw sighed and shifted in her chair. She sat there for a while, her chin resting on her hand. Finally, she came out with it.  
  
 "Why on earth would Root have given up an egg, and then kept it a secret? Did she talk to you about it?" she asked The Machine.  
  
"A little. She was in her 20s when she did it. There was a time she needed the money. She'd also made some pretty difficult decisions about what her life would be like and she knew that being a mom was not going to be part of it."  
  
"So her reasons weren't much different from Logan's then," Shaw suggested bitterly. "She wanted her genes to be carried on. Purchased by someone with the means to do it."  
  
"Samantha Groves never felt like she belonged anywhere," The Machine replied. "She had no strong attachments to anybody after her mom died. Ironically, despite the name she chose for herself, she didn't feel rooted. She just wanted to know that somewhere in the world there was someone connected to her, someone who would have a better life than she did. Someone who would survive and thrive."   
  
"If I'd known about Morgan..."  
  
"What would you have done?" The Machine asked. "Rescued her from her nannies and expensive boarding schools? How could you have looked after a preteen or teenage girl in your line of work?"  
  
Shaw glowered, then got up and poured herself another glass of water.  
  
"I could have done something."  
  
"Logan is her father. And despite his annoying, superior attitude, he's right. You have no legal right to step in."  
  
"Legal schmegal. He was a crappy dad."  
  
"He's trying to do better. Let him."  
  
Shaw was about to reply when she heard the door fly open and the two younger women burst in, making a lot of noise as they did so. They were giggling. Giggling! Shaw was pretty sure she'd never heard Montoya giggle before, or even laugh much. She went to the door to confront them.  
  
"Hi Shaw," Montoya greeted her with a wide grin. "We were just going to use the simulation room for a while. Morgan's been collaborating with The Machine on a mash-up. It's going to be so cool."  
  
"It's called "Catwoman meets Ziggy Stardust," Morgan added with a mischievous grin. "You can watch it later if you like."  
  
"The last one was really fun," Montoya said, as Morgan grabbed her hand and started pulling her into the sim room. "Diamond Dogs and Pussy Cats! And it's exactly what that sounds like ..."  
  
The two of them disappeared into the room and shut the door before Shaw could speak. She stood there fuming for a while, debating whether or not she should just burst in on them, but she decided to go for a walk instead, to cool off.  
  
When she came back, Morgan was in the kitchen making some kind of concoction on the stove and Montoya was coming out of her bedroom, buttoning her trousers. This scene made Shaw react like the squarest parent on the block.  
  
"What the hell have the two of you been up to?"  
  
"Um, nothing," Montoya answered with a guilty smile. "You know, we were just hanging out."  
  
"Well, it's time you stopped."  
  
"What do you mean?" Montoya asked, the smile quickly disappearing from her face.  
  
"It's over. We're done with that number."  
  
"I don't think of Morgan as a number," Montoya frowned, crossing her arms in front of her.  
  
"You need to disengage," Shaw replied. "End it. Now."  
  
"Look," Montoya said, taking a step closer to Shaw and placing her hands on her hips. "I never thought I'd ever have to say this to you, but you really need to mind your own business."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"My relationship with Morgan is none of your business."  
  
"I'm making it my business," Shaw said, sticking a finger in Montoya's chest. "She's Root's daughter."  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So I'm taking responsibility for her now."  
  
"She's a grown woman, Shaw. Would you mind taking your hands off me?"  
  
Shaw looked down and noticed her hands were gripping Montoya's shirt. Instead of letting go, she gripped tighter.  
  
"I'll take my hands off you when you take yours off her," Shaw snarled.  
  
Montoya's hands were now holding onto Shaw's arms and their eyes were locked like two wild animals about to fight. Morgan had come out into the hallway and was watching them, horrified.  
  
"Ricky..." she began.  
  
"It's OK," Montoya told her.   
  
"Shut up!" Shaw growled, pushing Montoya hard into the wall.  
  
Montoya pushed back harder and Shaw let go with her right hand, then slammed it into Montoya's solar plexus. Morgan cried out as Montoya crumpled and fell gasping to the floor.  
  
"Stay away from her!" Shaw ordered, turning quickly to grab Morgan and pull her away from her fallen lover.  
  
Montoya got up slowly, then squared to face Shaw again, her blue eyes flashing with anger.  
  
"I won't," she said, still trying to regain her breath as Morgan struggled against Shaw's grasp. "I love her and she loves me. Ask her."  
  
Shaw turned to look at Morgan and was shocked to see the pain and terror in her eyes.   
  
"Shaw..." The Machine intoned. "Let her go."  
  
"Yeah, let her go," Montoya said, her eyes fixed not on Shaw, but on Morgan.  
  
Shaw gripped Morgan's arm tighter and pulled her further away. She wasn't even sure where she was taking her. She decided on the living room. Montoya followed a few steps behind.  
  
"You think you are protecting her, saving her? From what? From me?" Montoya was asking.  
  
Shaw glared back at her, holding a hand up defensively, but didn't reply.  
  
"You don't see what you're doing. You think you can fix everything but you can't," Montoya continued, her voice beginning to shake with emotion.  
  
"So go ahead! Go ahead and beat the crap out of me! It won't keep us apart and it won't change the fact that you couldn't save her mother!"  
  
There was a half-second pause as Montoya looked in Shaw's eyes and realized she'd gone too far. She took a step back but Shaw was already lunging towards her, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and throwing her backwards to the floor. Her fist was pounding Montoya's face. Once, twice, three times...  
  
Morgan was yelling and trying to pull Shaw off the flailing body on the floor while The Machine kept calling Shaw's name, trying to make her stop.  
  
But Shaw couldn't stop. She couldn't see anything but the color red. Red for her anger. Red for her guilt. Red for Montoya's messed up auburn hair. Red for the blood on her face and on Shaw's hands. Always blood on Shaw's hands. Always.  
  
The next thing Shaw saw was a quick blur of movement to her right and then a blinding flash of light as something hard crashed into the side of her head. She fell over to her left side, holding her head, feeling blood there. Blood and broken bits of glass.  
  
It took her a moment to sit up and re-focus. She managed to pull herself to her feet, then took a step or two backwards to appraise the scene. A broken bottle of scotch was lying on the floor, the last of the amber liquid seeping into the carpet.  
  
"Fuck. My best whiskey," Shaw mumbled, still holding her head.  
  
"Don't worry, it was almost empty," The Machine replied.  
  
Shaw staggered over to where Montoya was lying barely conscious on the floor. Morgan was cradling her in her arms, crying, kissing her hair and her battered face, saying her name.   
  
Shaw watched in stunned silence. She couldn't believe what she'd just done. And she couldn't get over how much Morgan looked like her mother. She put her hand on the young woman's shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said.   
  
Morgan shook her hand off and glared at her, her eyes full of fury. Shaw straightened up, walked to the door, and left.  
  



	15. Intrusion

  
  
  
  
When Shaw returned to her place, the lights were dimmed and she wasn't sure if anyone else was there. She walked into the kitchen and saw a prescription bottle sitting on the counter. Picking it up, she quickly read the label. Heavy duty painkillers. She sighed.   
  
"They went to the ER," The Machine said through the speaker. "Don't worry, your name wasn't mentioned."  
  
"There must have been a question or two," Shaw ventured.  
  
"Montoya told the doctor she was jumped," The Machine replied. "What about you? Did you need stitches?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Shaw put the bottle down and looked around. Morgan and Montoya weren't in the living room or the sim room and Montoya's bedroom door was closed. Shaw went into her own room and found her earpiece and her tablet, then went back into the living room. Putting in her earpiece, she sat down on the couch and began checking all her security cameras on the tablet.  
  
"What are you doing?" The Machine asked.  
  
Shaw didn't answer. Her finger hovered over the thumbnail for the camera in Montoya's bedroom. She paused for a second or two, then tapped it.  
  
As she had suspected, they were in bed together, their arms wrapped around each other, their faces touching. At first, they appeared to be perfectly still, but then Shaw realized they were kissing so very slowly, they were barely moving.   
  
Shaw took a deep breath. They kissed like they had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else that mattered. She tried to remember when she'd kissed Root like that. It had been such a long time ago. And so often, their time together had been a patchwork of desperate, stolen moments. A kiss in a darkened doorway. The odd night in a hotel room. A few hours of lying in each other's arms, making no promises. They'd both known they didn't have a lot of time.   
  
She did remember one night, though. They'd hopped a plane to Alaska, then jetted down to Miami where they found themselves with several hours to kill. They spent them at a drug lord's mansion, while the drug lord in question was fleeing the feds in a speedboat. The mansion had 12 bedrooms. They tried out all 12, plus the sunken bath in the master suite. When morning came, Shaw hadn't wanted to go back to work but Root told her their fun was over... for now.  
  
"Shaw," The Machine interrupted her reverie. "You shouldn't be doing this."  
  
Shaw grimaced and glanced back at her screen. She could see that Morgan had now turned her head and was staring straight at the camera. Then the screen turned fuzzy. Shaw tapped it a few times.  
  
"It's toast," The Machine informed her. "Serves you right for being so nosy."  
  
Shaw frowned and picked up her hand-held device. It was showing an alert for a virus.  
  
"What the hell?" she asked. "What happened?"  
  
"Morgan," said The Machine. "She is really pissed at you."  
  
Shaw sighed. "I guess I can't blame her. I'm going to bed."  
  
"Good idea."  
  
The next morning, Shaw didn't see the younger women since she had an early day at work. She thought about leaving them a note, but decided against it. What she needed to say was best said in person. She left the apartment quietly, so she wouldn't wake them.  
  
As soon as Morgan heard the door close, she got up without waking Montoya, and went into the kitchen. She rummaged around in the cupboard for a few minutes, looking for tea, but finally settled on coffee.  
  
"I can do that," The Machine suggested. "Go sit down."  
  
"Fine," Morgan responded in her head.   
  
She went into the living room and sat down. Shaw's fried tablet was lying on the couch. Morgan picked it up, then tossed it onto the low table. She sat there for a few minutes as the aroma of the coffee began to fill the room.   
  
"Try to see it her way," The Machine was saying. "This is very difficult for her."  
  
"So she lashes out with her fists? She could have killed Ricky."  
  
"She feels terrible about it."  
  
"She thinks I'm a piece of property."  
  
"No," The Machine sighed. "She doesn't think that. Give her some time. She didn't even know you existed. It's a shock."  
  
Morgan didn't answer. The smell of the coffee was working its magic, soothing her anger. She'd always loved the smell of coffee. It reminded her of her father's office. The taste of coffee, on the other hand, had always been something of a disappointment.  
  
She got up and went into the kitchen, where her coffee was waiting, courtesy of The Machine.  
  
"Thank you, " she said, out loud. That was one of the things she always said out loud. It was common courtesy after all.  
  
"You're welcome," came a voice from behind her.  
  
It was Montoya, slipping her arms around Morgan's waist and kissing the back of her neck.  
  
"Who are you talking to?" she asked.   
  
"Just The Machine," Morgan replied. She turned around and lightly touched Montoya's cheek with her hand.  
  
"How's your face?" she asked.  
  
"You tell me. You're looking at it."  
  
Morgan smiled and placed a soft kiss on Montoya's mouth, then handed her a cup of coffee. They both went into the living room and sat down on the couch.  
  
"So are you ready for our little adventure tonight?" Morgan asked.  
  
"Operation Weed Be Gone? I'm looking forward to it," Montoya replied. "I thought we'd never be able to find a night with only one guard on duty."  
  
"We might not even have to worry about the one guard," Morgan said. She arched an eyebrow the way Montoya loved. "I think I can juggle their schedules around so that they all get the night off. Hopefully no one notices."  
  
"Here's to our plan then," Montoya smiled, clinking her coffee mug against Morgan's.  
  
That night found the two of them at the lab building, Montoya kneeling in front of the door trying to pick the outside lock, while Morgan kept watch a few steps away. It took about a minute, then Montoya heard a click.  
  
"Got it," she called over to her accomplice. "Check for security."  
  
Morgan looked around and then joined Montoya at the door. Morgan was dressed head to toe in a tight black outfit, just like Catwoman. She said it was for authenticity. Montoya wished she had brought a whip and a pair of kitty ears to complete the ensemble but decided to file that idea away for later.    
  
After standing just outside the door for about 10 seconds, Morgan gave her report. There was an alarm system and there were also some video security cameras inside. She shut down the alarm and told The Machine to take over the cameras.  
  
"Let's go," she told Montoya with a smile. She moved quickly down the hallways, making not even the slightest sound. Montoya had to half-jog to keep up with her.  
  
"Hey, you are pretty good at this," Montoya told her when she caught up to her at the next corner. "Where did you learn these particular skills?"  
  
"Boarding school."  
  
"I would have thought you were learning French and algebra."  
  
Morgan laughed. "We used to sneak down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for snacks. I could make it down and back in 88 seconds. That's a record, by the way."  
  
"There's no end to your talents."  
  
The next two locks were key card access, which Morgan handled quickly, and the two of them soon found themselves in the research lab with about 100 buzzing computers. These were the vessels for Gabriel's self-replicating code, the monster he'd planned to unleash on the world. Morgan looked around and took a deep breath.  
  
"Can you hear them?" Montoya asked.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"What are they saying?"  
  
"They need help. They're suffocating."  
  
"That's what he would have done to The Machine."  
  
"I know. Bastard."  
  
Morgan reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny device holding the program the two of them had created.   
  
"Are you OK?" Montoya asked, noting the frown on Morgan's face.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine. Here goes the first official trial of M&M's extra-strength cyber weed-killer."  
  
She downloaded it into the first computer, pulling on a white lab coat while she waited.  
  
"Nice touch," Montoya commented, giving her an appraising look. "More authenticity?"  
  
Morgan smiled back and put on a pair of dark-framed glasses.  
  
"You're killing me," Montoya said, shaking her head as she watched Morgan lean over the computer to study the data on the screen.  
  
"It worked," Morgan announced about a minute later. "Now's the time-consuming part. We have to download it into every one of these computers."  
  
"They're not on a network?"  
  
"No. He was cultivating the codes separately, in isolation. It seems old school but he was very methodical about his research. He wanted to make sure his creation was perfect before he took it online."  
  
Montoya was already plugging her device into another computer.   
  
"OK, let's get to work," she said.   
  
"There's a chance our program might not work on every single code," Morgan warned as she set about ejecting her device and moving to the next computer. "He might have thrown in a mutation or two."  
  
"Then we'll have to tweak it as we go," said Montoya. "The Machine can help us. Can't you?"  
  
"Way ahead of you," The Machine answered in Montoya's earpiece. "By the way, one of the security guards noticed the scheduling screw-up and decided to come in and cover the missing shift."  
  
"Damn," Morgan cursed.  
  
"Don't worry," The Machine said. "I'll slow him down. He'll find his key card a little glitchy tonight."  
  
Morgan and Montoya exchanged a smile and set to work. About an hour later, they were making their way back down the hallway. Suddenly, Morgan grabbed Montoya's arm and made her stop.  
  
"It's the guard," The Machine was warning them. "He's on his way."  
  
"Can we make it outside in time?" Montoya asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Quick, in here," Morgan said, pulling Montoya over to a door with key card access.   
  
They quickly ducked inside the room, which turned out to be very small and cluttered.  
  
"A utility closet? Are you kidding me?" Montoya asked, as she found Morgan's body pressed against hers in the cramped space.  
  
"Shhhh," Morgan answered, trying not to giggle. "He'll hear us."  
  
They both stood silently in the dark and listened to the guard's footsteps pass the door as he walked down the hallway. He stopped further down and they could hear him trying his key card and being denied access. After a few more tries and some colorful cursing, he gave up and left the building.  
  
"He's gone," Morgan said. "Let's give him a few minutes and then it should be safe to leave."  
  
"OK, but what are we going to do while we're waiting?" Montoya asked as she carefully removed Morgan's glasses and used the back of her fingers to sweep a few tendrils of blonde hair away from her face.  
  
Morgan slipped her arms around Montoya's neck, leaning in until their foreheads touched, then brushed her nose against Montoya's and whispered something in her ear that made her smile.   
  
They both laughed softly as the lab coat fell to the floor.   
  
  



	16. Atonement

  
  
  
The damp, cut-off T-shirt was clinging to Shaw's skin when she got back to the condo. It felt good to work up such a sweat, to get her body into a state of pleasant exertion, then to warm down and let it relax again. The sun felt nice on her skin too, but now she was walking into the cool inside climate and she could feel the breeze from the ocean blowing through the large open windows that faced the beach.  
  
There was noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like Root was busy with the blender again, creating something.  
  
Shaw walked in and stood quietly in the doorway for a moment, watching Root putter, that little frown creasing her forehead. Shaw smiled, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. It took a few seconds for Root to realize she was there.  
  
"Hey, you're back," she smiled warmly. "How was your run?"  
  
"Good. I did the lower canyon trail, the long loop."  
  
"I'm impressed," Root lifted an eyebrow, then turned back to the blender. "Want a smoothie?"  
  
"I'd love one. But I'm going to take a shower first."  
  
"OK, I'll make it when you're finished," Root replied, turning away from the counter and heading to the fridge. "Hey, do you want to try that new place for dinner?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"I'll call and see if we can get a table on the terrace."  
  
She turned back around to find Shaw between her and the blender, then Shaw's arm sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. Root's hands moved up to hold Shaw's face as they kissed.  
  
"Mmmm," Root murmured, resting her forehead on Shaw's so their noses touched. "You should go for a long run more often."  
  
Shaw kissed her again, longer this time, slipping her hands down, wondering if she could make Root's body melt into hers just by wishing it. Long fingers were lightly stroking the back of her ear, then her neck before Root pulled away slightly.  
  
"Want a banana?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"In your smoothie."  
  
"Oh, sure. That sounds nice."  
  
Root turned back to her blender and Shaw headed to the shower, stripping off her running clothes and tossing them into the hamper. She stepped into the huge, marble-walled shower and felt the warm water pulsing down. Closing her eyes, she sighed and lingered under the water. She felt like she could stay there forever. Well, maybe not forever. Not unless...  
  
The door opened and she was soon feeling the gentle touch of those long fingers on her back, moving around her, trailing down her body. Then she turned, slipping her arms around the body that was pressed against hers and lifting her head so that her mouth could meet the soft lips waiting there.  
  
It was a few moments of bliss, not long enough, before the water began to turn cooler and then petered out to a dribble. Shivering, Shaw pulled a towel around herself and stepped out of the shower stall onto the cold, hard tiles of her bathroom floor, her reality.  
  
The front door was opening to allow Montoya and Morgan inside. They were holding hands, again. Did they ever let go of each other's hands? For a second or two, they stood facing Shaw in awkward silence. Then Montoya spoke.  
  
"Oh. Hi."  
  
"Hi," Shaw answered, securing the end of the towel with one hand.  
  
"Could we sit down and have a talk?" Montoya asked. Morgan was silent.  
  
"Sure, I'll just be a minute," Shaw answered.  
  
She went into her room to dress while the other two went into the living room. When she came out, they were both sitting on the couch, waiting. She noticed Montoya had some bruises and a couple of stitches on her face. She also noticed Morgan's eyes looked like burning coals. She sat down across from them.  
  
"Shaw," Montoya began.  
  
"No, let me go first," Shaw interrupted her. "I'm deeply sorry for the pain I've caused you both. I had no right to strike you, Ricky. I overreacted horribly and I will do anything I can to make things right. I hope that you can forgive me."  
  
Montoya set her jaw and nodded. She looked like she was about to cry.  
  
"I need to apologize to you as well," she said. "I shouldn't have said what I did. It was over the line and I'm sorry."  
  
Morgan said nothing but squeezed Montoya's hand.  
  
"Also," Montoya continued. "We've been treating your place like a hotel and an amusement park."  
  
She looked at Morgan, who looked down, embarrassed.  
  
"It's not very respectful. I'm just a guest here and you've done a lot for me. I'm very grateful for the help and the friendship you've shown me."  
  
Shaw took a deep breath.  
  
"You're not just a guest," she said. "I think of you as family. And you too, Morgan. I would like us to have a relationship."  
  
Morgan looked at Shaw but still did not speak.  
  
"Maybe we can work on this slowly," Montoya suggested. "Everything has happened so fast. It's going to take some time."  
  
She looked at Morgan, who smiled back at her.  
  
"We've decided I should move into Morgan's place," she continued. "I'm over there most of the time anyway. And it will give you some space."  
  
Shaw cleared her throat. She was a little taken aback but realized this turn of events was probably inevitable.  
  
"You're going to keep working with me on the numbers, aren't you?" she asked.  
  
"Of course," Montoya replied. "If you still want me as a partner."  
  
"Absolutely," Shaw said, and they both smiled.  
  
Montoya went into her room to gather her things, leaving Morgan and Shaw alone. The silence was more painful than ever.  
  
"Your mother meant a lot to me," Shaw said after a while.  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
"She'd want us to be friends."  
  
"Are you sure about that?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
They both stood up as Montoya reappeared with a duffel bag full of her stuff. She shook hands with Shaw and headed for the door as Morgan and Shaw faced each other in uneasy silence.  
  
"Hang on a second," Shaw said suddenly. "I have something I want to give you."  
  
She disappeared into her room and came out a few seconds later, holding a leather jacket.  
  
"It was your mom's," she said, handing it to Morgan. "It doesn't fit me. The sleeves are too long."  
  
"Thank you," Morgan said. She glanced at Montoya, who gave her a tight smile, then the two of them left.  
  
Shaw stood quietly for a moment after the door closed. Then she went into the kitchen and fetched herself a glass and a bottle of scotch.  
  
"OK?" The Machine checked in over the speaker.  
  
"I'm getting there."  
  
"She's right, Shaw. It's going to take some time. Morgan will come around."  
  
"Would you... could you please just talk to her?"  
  
"I talk to her all the time, Sam."  
  
"Oh. Yes, of course. Of course you do," Shaw replied, pouring herself a scotch.  
  
She walked over to the window overlooking the street and watched the two younger women getting into a taxi-pod. Morgan was still holding the jacket. She didn't put it on.  
  



	17. Enshrinement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last full chapter and then I will write an epilogue. Thanks for reading.

  
  
Shaw opened her closet and flipped through the hangers until she came to the blouse she wanted. It was a cool, white cotton embroidered number she'd bought in Mexico. She slipped it on and checked it out in the mirror. It set off her dark hair and eyes nicely but It needed something. Maybe some jewelry. She didn't often wear much jewelry but she felt like getting a little dressed up tonight. She was sorting through her small assortment of pieces when Root came in.  
  
"Hey sweetie, are you ready for dinner?"  
  
"Almost."  
  
"Oh is that your new blouse? Let me see."  
  
Shaw turned to let Root check her out.  
  
"Mmm, it looks really nice on you," Root smiled. "There's only one thing that would make it better."  
  
"What, this?" Shaw held up a silver neck chain.  
  
"No, this."  
  
Root moved closer and reached for the top button of the blouse, then slipped it through its hole.  
  
"We'll be late," Shaw protested, but she didn't interfere as Root worked her way down, unbuttoning until the blouse fell open.  
  
"No we won't. We have an hour, " Root replied as the blouse fell to the floor. "There. Beautiful."  
  
They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed slowly, then Root began moving Shaw backwards towards the bed. Soon, they were lying together, their arms and legs entwined as they continued kissing tenderly. Root liked afternoon sex. She liked it in the morning too. She liked it pretty well anytime as long as it was with Shaw. Afterwards, they lay together quietly as the muted afternoon sun stole through the cracks in the window blinds. Root's stomach growled. She stirred and tried to sit up.  
  
"I'm famished," she said. "We should get going."  
  
Shaw pulled her closer but made no move to get up.  
  
"What's wrong?" Root asked. "Come on, let go. Let go Sameen."  
  
For a while, Shaw just lay silently on her back, stroking Root's long hair, kissing her forehead and staring at the ceiling fan.  
  
"I can't," she finally replied.  
  
 A few miles away, Morgan was lying in her own bed, trying to win an argument with The Machine. She eventually gave up and rolled over, staring for a while at the armchair in the corner where she'd left the jacket Shaw had given her. At first she'd found it odd that Shaw had made such a gesture. Why a jacket? Usually people passed on jewelry or such articles as heirlooms. Maybe Shaw knew Morgan had plenty of jewelry. Maybe she thought the jacket would fit Morgan better. Or maybe the jacket was the only personal thing of Root's that she had.  
  
Morgan got up from the bed and went over to the chair, picking up the jacket and pulling it on. She stepped in front of the long mirror.  
  
"You are rocking it," came a voice from behind her.  
  
Morgan laughed and climbed back into bed.  
  
"I don't know," she said. "Leather jackets aren't really my thing."  
  
She slipped into Montoya's arms and kissed her. "It would probably look better on you."  
  
"Me?" Montoya frowned. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"God, don't you know?" Morgan replied with a smile before rolling over on top of her. "Those James Dean eyes and that brooding mouth. You are so sexy."  
  
"Who's James Dean?" Montoya asked, as Morgan's phone began flashing.  
  
"Hang on," Morgan told her. "It's my father."  
  
She picked up the phone and went into the kitchen for a moment, then came back.  
  
"He's coming over," she said, sitting down on the bed next to Montoya. "Do you mind?"  
  
"Of course not," Montoya replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I have to head to work soon anyway."  
  
She dressed quickly and made herself scarce before Logan arrived half an hour later. Morgan brought him a cup of tea as he sat down in the living room.  
  
"I'm heading to Seoul on business next week," he told her. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing OK before I left. You and, uh..."  
  
"Ricky."  
  
"Yes, Ricky."  
  
"We're doing fine."  
  
Logan shifted forward on the couch and picked up his tea, taking a sip before putting it down and reaching into his pocket.  
  
"There's something else," he said. "Something I wanted to give you."  
  
He handed her a tiny storage device.  
  
"I should have given it to you a long time ago. It's from your mother."  
  
"What is it?" Morgan asked.  
  
"It's a message. You can listen to it when I'm gone."  
  
He kissed her on the forehead, then gave her an impulsive hug before leaving.  
  
Morgan plugged the device into her tablet and watched the screen come to life. She was looking at her mother, a woman she'd never met, who was probably about the same age she herself was now. A woman with the same brown eyes, the same nose, the same ready smile, telling her about her strange, dangerous life. Telling her she loved her. Speaking with the same voice The Machine used. Morgan reached out and lightly touched the screen with her finger, tracing around the woman's face.  
  
That night, she finished her argument with The Machine. The argument was about Shaw. When Montoya arrived home, Morgan told her what she'd decided. They both went over to Shaw's place the next morning.  
  
"This sounds like an ultimatum," Shaw was saying, although she didn't seem overly opposed to it.  
  
"It is," Montoya replied. "If you want a relationship with Morgan, these are the things you'll have to commit to."  
  
"A therapy program? What the fuck?"  
  
"I can run it as a simulation," The Machine jumped in. "We'll have sessions three times a week, instead of your fantasy games."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with fantasy," Shaw told The Machine. "Who does it hurt?"  
  
"You."  
  
Shaw was quiet for a moment. The two younger women remained silent.  
  
"The other day when you went for a run," The Machine continued. "Do you remember?"  
  
"Of course," Shaw replied. "We were heading out for dinner. But we never finished that simulation."  
  
There was a brief pause before The Machine answered softly. "Shaw, that wasn't a simulation."  
  
Shaw looked stunned. Morgan hesitated, then reached forward and gently squeezed Shaw's arm.  
  
"OK, I'll do the therapy," Shaw said, sighing resignedly.  
  
"What about the other thing?" The Machine prodded.  
  
Shaw sighed again, stood up and walked to the kitchen. She hesitated at the cupboard, then took out a half-empty bottle of scotch. She held it up to the light for a minute.  
  
"Can't I just have one last shot?" she asked.  
  
"No."  
  
Shaw removed the cap and dumped the remnants of the bottle down the drain.  
  
"There," she said. "That was 50 bucks worth."  
  
"I'm proud of you."  
  
"You're a machine."  
  
"Still."  
  
  
  
  


 


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was some kind of glitch last week when I posted Chapter 16. I didn't get any hits, which was strange because I usually start seeing hits within a minute or two of posting. So a few days went by and I got maybe 20 hits on the chapter, and no kudos or comments. I started to think everyone had bailed on me. I wondered if I'd done something to make people lose interest or if they just didn't like the story or the characters. So, I decided to go ahead and finish the next chapter since I was almost done, and also because I had found the story was quite cathartic and was helping me sort out some of my own unresolved grief issues. So anyway, then I posted Chapter 17 and I immediately started getting lots of hits and a bunch of comments and kudos again. So, obviously, you haven't all ditched me after all. Thank you. It means a lot to me that people are reading my story and that they like what I've written or at least find it interesting. So again, thank you for reading. And now, here's the epilogue.

* * *

**(Six weeks later ...)**  
  
  
Morgan giggled and pulled her leather jacket closer around her to hide what she was holding in her arms. There inside the jacket was a small, rambunctious ball of fur that would not keep still. It snarfed, it drooled, it panted with its tiny pink tongue sticking out.  
  
"Shhh," said Montoya, "Keep it quiet for a minute."  
  
She knocked on the door and waited for Shaw to answer. Shaw looked a lot better than she'd looked a few weeks ago. She actually smiled.  
  
"What's this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and pointing to the flurry of activity going on under Morgan's jacket.  
  
"We thought you should have something to keep you company," Montoya said, as Morgan opened her jacket, revealing a German shepherd pup.  
  
 "His name is Cub," said Morgan.  
  
Shaw took the wriggling puppy, which promptly licked her nose.  
  
"Cub," she said. "We'll have to set some ground rules. Like no licking."  
  
Cub responded with more licking, causing Shaw to scrunch up her nose.  
  
"Thanks," she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "How did you know I like puppies?"  
  
"Doesn't everybody?" asked Morgan.  
  
"Come on in," Shaw invited them, stepping back from the door. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. I made pasta."  
  
"The puppy was more Morgan's idea than mine," Montoya told Shaw as they walked in. "I think what you really need is a girlfriend. A real one."  
  
Shaw smirked as they went into the living room to sit down.  
  
"Do you need any help?" Morgan asked, taking off her jacket.  
  
"Nope," Shaw replied. "It's under control."  
  
She put the dog down on the couch between Morgan and Montoya and went back into the kitchen.  
  
"You know who we should introduce her to?" Montoya whispered to Morgan. "My Aunt Renee."  
  
"Your dad's sister?"  
  
"They'd hit it off big time."  
  
"I bet they'd spend the whole time arguing over whose gun is bigger."  
  
They both giggled as Shaw came back into the room.  
  
"Dinner's ready," she smiled.  
  
Later than night, after the younger couple had gone home. Shaw made a little bed for the puppy in the spare room. She didn't want him sleeping on her bed in case there were any little accidents. Maybe when the dog was older he could have bed privileges. Maybe.  
  
She left some music on for the dog and then got into her own bed, pleasantly tired, and fell asleep quickly. She dreamed about being somewhere where there was lots of food and lots of fresh water. And sunshine.  
  
Just before dawn, Shaw felt that familiar body curled around her back, that long arm around her, holding her close, that foot snuggled beneath hers, where it fit so perfectly. There was even that scent, lingering. Still.  
  
Shaw opened her eyes but did not turn over. Instead, she moved her hand over top of the hand that was holding her and laced her fingers in, tightly.  
  
"When did you get in?" she asked.  
  
"Around three."  
  
"I didn't hear you."  
  
"I tried to be quiet. I didn't want to wake you."  
  
Shaw lay quietly for a moment.  
  
"You smell really nice," she said after a while.  
  
"You always say that."  
  
Shaw smiled. Yes, she did always say that. A few minutes passed before Shaw spoke again.  
  
"I know you're not real."  
  
"It's OK, Sameen. I'll be here as long as you need me to be."  
  
"I miss you so much."  
  
"I know. But one day it won't hurt so much."  
  
"Promise."  
  
"Absolutely."

 

* * *

 

 

  
   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally supposed to be about revenge (hence the title) but it ended up being about grief. Go figure.  
> I knew the story would not be for everyone, as it delves into some pretty difficult issues around grief and loss. It's probably the saddest story I've ever written. Well, it's set in a dystopian future, Root is dead, Shaw is struggling mightily ... of course it's going to be sad. I wanted to explore how people cope with loss and how they might use technology to do it or even how they might use technology to avoid grieving.  
> I had reasons for using the names I did. Morgan is named for Morgan le Fay, a sorceress I would not want to tangle with. Gabriel Hayward's alias is Greg Harding because it has the same initials and the same number of letters (Gabe/Greg; Gabriel/Gregory; Hayward/Harding) and also because Harding is one of the names in my ancestry (on my father's side.) Harding was also the name of one of the villains in Dollhouse but that's just a coincidence.  
> I gave Ricky the last name Montoya as a tribute to the character of Renee Montoya on Gotham because it was while I was looking her up online I stumbled onto videos of Root and Shaw. "What's this?" I asked myself. "Hey, it's Carmen from the L-Word and some cute smiling girl has her tied to a chair. Oooh. I like it." So it was because of Montoya I found Shoot. The least I can do is thank her for that. Also, Montoya is a cool name and it has that "you killed my father" thing going for it. -- ZT


End file.
